Blue Hedgehog Psychology
by Scarabbug
Summary: The Sonic characters undergo a psychological evaluation to determine the threat they may or may not pose to the world. Or at least, that's how it seems, at first...
1. Sonic

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One of the most excellent tropes for getting into a character's head in any fictional universe involves sticking them in a psychiatrist's office and getting them to look at the ink blots and play at word association. Thus I have done just that in the following story. Reviews are appreciated, as is constructive criticism.

**This story is set within the Sonic X continuity, somewhere between the first and second season.**

* * *

Blue Hedgehog Psychology. 

He doesn't want to be here.

No surprise, there. Most people don't. They've either been secretly enrolled by their parents, signed up by their husband or wife or forced to come by their bosses under the threat of being fired if they don't show up. There's something that people find intimidating about these offices, with their large desks and the pictures and plants people put on display in a vague attempt to make the place appear more homely.

Personally, (ironically) I think it's the couch which bothers people the most. The one he has refused to use since he got in the room. He's been sitting on the window ledge, arms folded behind his head, legs crossed, for about ten minutes now. Before that he had made himself comfortable in the seat behind my desk, and before that he had been sitting on the desk itself. He isn't one for remaining still, that much is certain. But then, I rather expected that. I've seen him on the news many times, and he's often little more than a cobalt blur caught briefly by security cameras.

'You don't have to answer the question if you feel uncomfortable with it, Sonic.'

'Nah, it's not that,' he shakes his head. 'Just that there are some things I figure I shouldn't talk about, you know? They're not my business.' He's been looking at me with those strange, green eyes for the entire time he's been here while all the while pretending he isn't. As if he's trying to figure me out. Clearly the world they come from isn't familiar with psychiatry.

The world they come from. God.

I think after this, _I'm_ going to be the one who needs a psychological evaluation.

'I get that. I can see why you might not be happy revealing some things. After all, your arrival in this world was...' Unexpected, surprising, scary, disturbing as hell, sent many people rushing to their psychiatrists '...Not a comfortable experience.'

He snorts. 'Yeah, no kidding. Try freak-out city. I mean, what the heck you people were all staring at I have no idea.'

'Well, were not really used to giant speeding blue hedgehogs.' Honesty is the best policy. He seems to understand, by now, that in this world he is something of a...

Can I call him an "oddball"? I've no desire to insult him, but I honestly can't think of any word from my psychology dictionary that's more appropriate.

'I figured. I saw a hedgehog just a while ago. One of _your_ world's hedgehogs, I mean. They're just little things. Tiny.' He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch or so apart (how big are his _hands_ under those gloves, anyway? This guy seems to utterly defy every law of proportion my biology class ever taught me). 'And I don't reckon they go so fast. _And_ they eat cat food? Seriously, _is_ there cat in that stuff?'

'Not... as a general rule, no.'

'Oh. Well it sure tastes as if it does. Don't even get me started on the crickets. Yeuch.'

I decide it might be better not to enquire further into this particular train of thought. We've been here for half an hour already, but I feel no closer to understanding him now than I did when I first entered my office and found him sitting on my desk, playing with the Newton's cradle and looking bored.

He's looked pretty bored ever since.

'Hey, are we done yet? I'm kinda hungry?'

I open my mouth to answer but by the time the words form on my tongue, he has already disappeared. I pause, blink and he's back again, accompanied by a slight breeze and a smell that reminds me of the hot dog vendor down the street. He has a hotdog in one hand. He pauses, looking down at the chair and then up at me. 'Uh...'

I nod. He sees that as agreement enough and starts wolfing down the hotdog almost faster than I can see. It's frankly disturbing, the speed at which he accomplishes even the most mundane of details.

'Meh. Sorry, just that Ella gets really weird about people leaving stuff on the furniture,' he says, with his mouth full. 'I keep telling her, it makes no difference. I've been eating all my life, not having manners never made it a problem.'

I think I already know the answer to my own forming question (I've done my research, after all) but I ask it anyway. 'Who's Ella?'

'Lady works for the Thorndyke's. Looks after Cream,' he shrugs. 'Gets reeeally weird if you leave a mess on her carpets.

'And the Thorndyke's? They're the family who took...' You people. 'You and your friends in when you arrived on this world, aren't they?'

'Well I wouldn't say "took in",' Sonic shrugs. 'I stick around. Chris is an okay kid. Kinda clumsy, keeps getting himself into really dumb situations, but...'

'But?' I take a stab in the dark.

'He saved my life,' Sonic says and... There's something oddly serious (or seriously odd) about his tone of voice. Something which doesn't quite fit in with everything else I've seen and heard of him so far. He's not used to that, I realise. He's not used to being in debt that way. 'No one's ever done that for me before. No one's ever had to. Well, maybe Tails, but he's _always_ coming to peoples rescue, he just doesn't know it. He's alone a lot... Chris I mean. Think he was always alone before we showed up. Never had many real friends. Can't think why not,' He frowned, as if this was something he hadn't thought about very often and wasn't used to the idea. 'That's kinda not fair, you think?'

'No, it's not.' I agree. I remember my own childhood –crouching behind walls at school drawing on the floor with chalks. Never bullied, just _ignored_. Or looked at funny. The quiet little weirdo who never stood up for herself and never had anything to say.

How things have changed...

* * *

'That one looks like me, except purple.'

I rather expected him to say that. I flip the card.

'A desert with loads of space for running.'

Flip.

'Tails, but with just one tail. Which looks a little weird.'

_Flip_.

'The Tornado. The plane, that is. Not a big whirly thing like that one that chases me in the desert.'

_Flip_.

'Some weird thing with big eyes.'

_Flip._

'Knuckles. With a really big head.'

Isn't that the name of one of my upcoming patients? Maybe. I shrug and turn the card again. _Flip_.

'A flower garden. Like Amy's back home.'

_Flip_.

'A crash helmet. With a tree growing out of it.'

_Flip_.

'An Eggbot.'

_Flip_.

'An Eggbot gettin' smashed into pieces.'

_Flip_.

'The back of Amy's head.'

_Flip_.

'Green mustard, without the chilli dog underneath it.' He shrugs at what I presume is my rather confused expression. I flip the card again.

'A Chaos Emerald. Hey, are these things supposed to mean anything?'

'They mean whatever you want them to mean,' I shrug, attempting to appear casual. He pauses, nodding at this for a moment. I turn to the next card.

He stares at the next splodge for a moment before answering. 'Heh. Push the button before I grab it.'

'Excuse me?'

'Meh. Long story, and boring to boot.' He shrugs. I know he's not going to elaborate, so I simply flip the page.

'That one's another Eggbot.'

_Flip._

'...I _think_ that's a tree.'

_Flip. _

'A really, _really_ big hammer. Hitting Eggman over the head...'

* * *

I try to think a little, about their world. I tell myself that I can't really understand them without to an extent understanding where they come from, so I did my research on their world before these sessions started.

It makes my brain spin. Seriously. A subsidiary of ours it's certainly not. Not if their idea of a hedgehog is a lightning fast creature than comes in a variety of colours and can break the sound barrier as easily as they wolf down chilli dogs. I can't even start imagining what that world could possibly look like. I try asking him again it, but he just shrugs and says it's kind of like this one. But a lot brighter and with lots more different people (and more tails). He says he thinks it might be bigger than our world is, but he can't be sure.

'I mean, I managed to run right around this one about twice in the same week. But back on my world, I'm still running into places I've never been before. ' he plays with the Newton's cradle on the desk. I wonder if the movement of the little silver orbs is as agonizingly slow for him as it seems it must be. 'I figure it keeps changing. Like it's a little different every time.'

The thought of a world which changes itself over and over is a little too much for my psychologically aimed brain to handle. I remember those old pulp fiction stories I read as a child, stolen away from my big brothers drawer... All those tales about planets as alive as the people who lived on them and caves full of creatures that mutated the walls and changed pathways to keep wandering travellers confused and lost forever.

'Why're you doin' this anyway?' His question comes out of the blue (no pun intended) and... I _know_ the proper response to it; I just can't seem to form it on my tongue.

'You know... I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions.'

'Yeah, yeah, but you've been doing that all day,' Sonic groans (it's actually only been able half an hour, but maybe it feels like all day for him). 'My turn now.'

'It doesn't really work that way?'

'Why not? Jeeze, you humans and your rules,' he sighs, reappearing on the window ledge again. He seems to like it there. Keeps looking up at the sky. 'It was that president, right? He put you up to this whole "Psych Evaluation" thing.

'Yes, he did.' I have a personal rule not to lie to my clients. Ever.

'Because he doesn't trust us?'

'I... wouldn't put it like that.' I pause, he doesn't say anything and for a moment the silence hanging between us is awkward. How silly of me to be provoked in this situation. In defence of my own president (not that I'd be one to talk there. His Psychology Examiner of State I may be, but I still voted for the other guy). 'We have to take precautions.'

'Yeah, I know. And so does my friend, Cream. We know _all_ about your world's _precautions_.' Sonic says dryly. It's the first sign of any malice I've encountered from him so far. He must get more annoyed the longer he'd cooped up in a space. I get the feeling that it probably took a lot of effort to convince him to come in the first place. I wonder who it was. The boy Chris he keeps talking about? His seemingly clutter-conscientious friend Ella? 'Your people at that government shut her up inside of a freaky compound, you know. Shot _laser beams_ at us. For real.'

'...I didn't know about that.' Partly truly. I _did_ hear rumours about their involvement in the break out from Area 99 a few months ago. As government psychiatrist in lieu of the president, I'm privy to that kind of information, but I never knew the absolute details. 'She must have been rather upset.'

Sonic snorts. 'Upset ain't the word for it. Maybe if they'd been a little more careful with her...'

He wouldn't have had to trash the place so thoroughly. 'She's just a little kid, you know? And Cheese is a little thing that wouldn't hurt a fly.'

I don't pretend to understand this situation. I have other clients to speak to about that before I pass any judgement. Including the Cream he spoke of.

I put my pen and paper down and look at him. 'What if I apologised for them? Would that make you feel any happier?'

Sonic shrugs. 'You can't apologise for someone else, it doesn't work that way.'

'Well. I'll apologise anyway' I say. Anything to get us out of this trap and back into productive conversation.

He pauses and gives me a long, even _look_. At least twenty seconds long. I wait patiently, clutching my clipboard tightly in one hand. Waiting. Somehow feeling like he's the one passing judgement 

now instead of me. I can kind of see why he bothers some people. But the public love him and... Really, what's not to like? The fact that he's different to us?

He rubs the back of his... head? Quills? Whatever. And the next thing I know he's got his arms behind his head again. 'Okay, fine. Next question, Doc.'

'Call me Eloise.'

He opens one eye, looks at me again, but this time his face is amused. 'Eloise, huh? As in Ella?' I nod. 'Good name.'

* * *

'Flower.'

'Cream.'

'Family.'

'Rocks.'

I've been reduced to playing word games.

It's not my favourite way of working out a client's personality but sometimes, a client comes along who just won't say anything useful.

That's a silly way of thinking, I know. And the opposite to what my training told me: according to my first tutor, _everything_ a client says is relevant, no matter how casual it may seem at the time, but that's a little too Freudian for me. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes a random comment about flowers, or chilli dogs really _is_ just a random comment about flowers or chilli dogs.

Still, on this particular occasion, I think I might actually be getting somewhere.

'World.'

'People.'

'Brother.'

'Tails.

Mother.'

'Blue. Well...' he scratches his nose with as close to thoughtfulness as I presume he ever gets. I guess she probably was. Never really met her. Ella's kinda like a stand-in mom to Cream, though. And to Amy and... I guess all of us. But she wasn't the first thing I thought of, so she doesn't count, right?'

'Pretty much,' I smile vaguely.

'Father.'

'Also blue. You know it's not as weird a colour mutate as some people think it is.'

That's an interesting point. I make a note of it for later before continuing with our game. 'Sister.'

'...Uh. I got nothing?'

I smile. 'Don't worry; you'd be amazed how often that happens. Child.'

'Seed.'

'Plant.'

'Garden.'

'Earth.'

'Weird. Because it is. No offence.'

'None taken. Hope.'

'Run.'

'Fast.'

'Food.'

'Meal.'

'Hungry. Which I am again, by the way.'

'Class.'

'School.'

'Friend.'

'Chris. And Tails, of course. And Cream and Amy. Sorta Knuckles too, when he's not being a dull jerk, which is most of the time.'

I don't allow myself to be distracted. The words for this test are legally set beforehand, but sometimes, I let my instincts take me where they please rather than following the script. Sometimes I learn more that way.

'Foe.'

'Robuttnik.' Sonic says and... I have to smile back as soon as I realise he's talking about that Eggman character (now wouldn't _he_ be an interesting subject for a psychological analysis?) Sonic glimpses at the door, tapping his feet impatiently against the window ledge, like he's considering going for another snack. 'Are we done yet? I've got places to run, people to see, freaky robots to destroy...'

'Chilli dogs to eat?' I suggest comically.

'Heh. Yeah, that too. Plus the world might need saving again at any moment, you know. You people have a heckuva lot more tornados and earthquakes than our world ever did.'

'Does that bother you, Sonic?' I ask, more out of genuine curiosity than for any psychological reason. 'Having to save the world? Stopping one of Eggman's schemes after another?'

'Not really. Why would it?' he looks at me frowning, trying to decipher my question. I'm not sure he's smart enough to, or maybe he's just not interested enough in this kind of thing to wonder about it for long. It seems the only things important to him are running. And those he cares about, of course. I've figured out that much about him. 'I mean Eggman's always been this way. S'pose I should thank him for being such a jerk, sometimes,' sonic grins. 'He sure spices things up around here. Still I figure he could cut the slack a little on all that World Domination and Eggman Empire stuff. It got real old real fast back on our world, and it's no newer in this ne. I've watched your TV shows. He adds. 'Half the bad guys on those weird programs remind me of Robuttnik, _big time_.'

'Eggman has always behaved this way?'

'Sure he has. For as long as I can remember, anyway.'

I contemplate making a joke. 'Maybe Eggman's been watching a lot of _The Batfreak Show _himself.'

'What, you watch that too?' Sonic blinks at me. 'That things on after _The Next Show _that Cream watches. Your TV's really weird.'

'Well it's nothing if not entertaining.'

'Heh. Yeah, I guess.'

When did it become so important to me to make him feel okay around me? To not think of me as a another one of those government officials or agents who locked up his friend and shot at him? who took him from his "home" in this world, and made him come here for one test after another?

Sonic burps.

I wonder how anyone could be afraid of this person.

'Our hour is almost up, Sonic. You're free to leave if you wish.'

'What seriously? As in I can leave the _whole_ building?'

I smile. 'Yes, the whole building. You're not being held prisoner here, you know.' Not anymore, anyway.

Sonic jumps to his feet, grinning. 'About time. I need a serious trek around the globe. Know anywhere a guy can stretch his legs that isn't a desert or an ocean? Already been to all of the former on this planet, and I don't really want to go _near_ the latter.'

* * *

_Final Report Concerning Subject S._

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_Psychologist on Duty: Eloise S. Crowley. _

_The phrase "hyperactive hedgehog" which is so often utilised by the media to describe the Subject in question appears to be something of a misnomer. While seemingly incapable of remaining still for any extended period of time while under pressure (he no doubt possesses an accelerated metabolism of sorts), Subject is not prone to restlessness or extreme bouts of emotion while unperturbed. That said, he has expressed some discomfort (presumably understandable) with the treatment he and his friends by the public, media and government since their arrival in this world. _

_Subject has shown an obvious fondness towards certain individuals, as well as an abhorrence of water. While drawn to the spotlight, he also seems generally rather uncomfortable with public displays of affection, and prefers his contact with others to remain non-physical in nature. He exhibits an almost juvenile irreverence for authority and obligation. At least in part, his willingness to rush in and save the day is contributed to by his desire for excitement and adventure. He is generally good natured and is particularly friendly around children. Is far less understanding where governmental officials are concerned and regularly attempts to avoid communication with them. _

_The Subject's exact Personality Type is difficult to define due to the fluctuating nature of his character. He is perhaps the personification of the "Live and Let Live" philosophy, responding to threats and danger only after such things occur and claiming that he would rarely, if ever instigate a situation which might prove hazardous to the public. However, when a threat does present itself a staggering change in his personality takes place. He becomes intensely focussed and appears to undergo a complete psychological transformation. While in this state, subject is capable of reaching far higher speeds than those he can obtain in less urgent situations. _

_Subject holds no hatred and little malice, even towards those who might wish to do him serious harm. Such sentiments would not be in keeping with his overall personality. Subject is non-materialistic, claiming that all he requires to be truly happy is a wide open space in which to run. _

_Because of the high speed at which he moves and processes information, Subject's memory has proven to be fallible and he regularly forgets details that others might consider important, or neglects to take into account other peoples' mindsets or ideas, often resulting in offhandedness or an apparent lack of empathy. This might provide an explanation for his role in recent events. He claims to operate best in an environment where he is able to plot his strategies _ad hoc_ without the need for advanced thinking or explanation. _

_Potential Threat: Moderate_

_Suggested action_: _It is unlikely that subject would deliberately cause harm to others unless provoked. However his personality remains in a constant state of flux and he regularly forgets important details concerning social interaction. While primarily good natured and prone to helping those in difficulty, it may still be wise not to antagonise him in any way._

_Further study into his physical and psychological capabilities would be a wise course of action provided he gives his consent. Otherwise subject (and presumably others connected to him) should be permitted a certain degree of governmental freedom under the Human Rights Act. Human or focussed he may not be, but sentient and aware of his treatment he most certainly is. _


	2. Cream

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One of the most excellent tropes for getting into a character's head in any fictional universe involves sticking them in a psychiatrist's office and getting them to look at the ink blots and play at word association. Thus I have done just that in the following story. Reviews are appreciated, as is constructive criticism.

**Chapter Two. Cream centric.**

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Blue Hedgehog Psychology.

She sits there, looking at me through eyes as lucid as tinted-brown glass and with a smile on her face. Her pet (I think it's supposed to be a pet of some kind. _Chao_ I believe they call them. This one's name is apparently "Cheese") is making itself quite comfortable in my desk drawer. I can hear it munching away on a bag of _frootloops_ I'd forgotten I had.

'Okay, next word, Cream...' I pretend to think about it for a moment even though the word popped into my head almost instantly. She is remarkably easy to read. Easier even than most of my young human patients. 'I choose... Flower.'

'Momma.'

'Child.'

'Me,' she giggles, swinging her legs against the couch. 'This is a fun game.'

I smile. The less she feels as if she's in another test facility and about to be prodded and poked at with diodes and electrical equipment, the better. 'I'm glad you think so. What about... ball?'

'Game.'

'Toy.'

'Play.'

'Fun.'

'Earth!' She smiles. 'Well... it's fun most of the time anyway. Other times it's not so much, like when Eggman's being bad.'

'Is Doctor Eggman bad a lot of the time?' I'm doodling a flower in the corner of my notebook as I talk. Figures. She's bringing out my whimsical side. For some reason interacting with my younger patients often does that. I find myself recalling the theme music of cartoons I watched when I was five years old, and wanting to roll my tongue and mess with my hair. I resist the urge as tempting as it is. It would be unprofessional.

Cream nods. 'Yes. He's bad an awful lot. But it's okay, because Sonic always stops him doing the horrible things he likes to do. He'll never let Eggman win.'

She sounds very sure of that. Surer than most children sound about anything. It seems easy for her to trust him. it seems fairly easy for her to trust just about anyone.

To be honest, I have to resist the temptation to just write "wouldn't hurt a fly shaped like Eggman" in my notes and be done with it.

'Lunch.'

'Cake.'

'Drink.'

'Milk.'

'Glass.'

'Cage.' She says quietly, and... I hesitate. Okay. That isn't the word I was expecting her to give me. Then I remember what Sonic said to me about laser fire and glass tubes. 'They had those in that place they took me to when i got here,' Cream says, and I don't have to ask. I know she's talking about Area 99. 'I didn't like it there. It was dark and scary and they kept shining strange lights in my face.'

I stop doodling. 'Well then. That's very unlucky, Cream. It seems when you got here you weren't treated by us any better than Eggman treated you.'

'They weren't bad,' she says softly. 'Not like Doctor Eggman is. But they weren't very nice either.'

There is silence for a moment. I allow it to hang, giving her time to look around. I've already told her she's free to wander as she pleases, but only her pet Chao creature has taken advantage of my offer by invading my desk drawers. 'You have a nice office,' Cream says. 'But it's not very bright. Sonic says it's awfully dull.'

My eyebrow rises of its own accord. 'Does he now?'

'Yes. He says you should have more things to do. It must get awfully boring, he said, to have to listen to a lot of people all the time all day just because the president wants you to.'

'Do you think it would be boring, Cream?' I ask. I know enough by now about what Sonic thinks and feels.

She seems to ponder my question for a while before answering. 'Well... it could be a little more fun, I guess. You don't have much to do when you're not listening to people and writing your notes, do you?'

'Oh, I have my toys.' I say, and then I cross the room and return with my Newton's Cradle from the desk. I place it on the couch beside her; setting it working. She looks at it for a moment and giggles. I have to smile again. 'Does it ever stop?' she asks.

'Eventually it will, but it takes a lot longer than it should. It's in a state of kinetic activity. There's a rule in science that says an object in motion remains in motion until it's interrupted by something else.' Looks like I just can't suppress my inner science nerd, no matter how I try.

She seems to understand. More than I expected her to, anyway. 'Like Sonic?'

Yes, a little like him I suppose. I don't suppose he stands still very often?'

'Nuh-uh. He _lies_ still when he's sleeping, sometimes,' Cream says. 'That's a start. But even than he's not really still. He twitches, like this:' her own nose wrinkles at me, rabbit like (my god, I think I actually just _forgot _that she's a member of the species _lapin_), in demonstration. I twitch my nose back. She laughs again. 'You're not scary at all, Miss Doctor,' she says to me. 'I don't know why Grandpa Chuck was so worried about you asking me say things I didn't want to.'

I blink. Partly at the comment about saying things she doesn't want to, but mostly at the word "grandpa". I have my suspicions, but I ask her anyway. It's 'Chuck? Who might that be?'

'Oh, he's not really our grandpa; only Chris's, but sometimes Tails talks about him and he just say "grandpa" without even thinking about it. Now and then we all do it. It's just his name, really because that's what everyone calls him.'

Funny. They haven't been here for long. The reports would put these creatures as first appearing in our world no more than nine months ago and yet they have shown a remarkable capacity for bonding. Stronger than that of most humans. I feel silently thankful for the human family who found this child and actually _treat_ her like one. Gave her a home and warmth and a person she could think of as grandpa even though he really isn't. Grandpa Chuck who gives his kids advice on dealing with nosy government official doctors. Heh.

They are different. But not in so many ways, maybe.

'Sounds to me like that's just who he is.'

'That's true,' Cream says.' You don't really have to be related to someone, if they care about you.'

She really seems to understand that. Such cognitive expressions usually fall outside of this particular age bracket, but... I'm forgetting myself. I'm forgetting that she isn't _human_, no matter how much she might behave like one. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I come to realise that I've never had a human child patient quite so demure or polite as Cream here. It's like she's from an era decades before our own: the days before _Violent Hawk _videogames and swearing before the watershed.

I nod slowly and deliberately. It's never good to make assumptions, especially not where children are concerned.

For the umpteenth time I wonder why I'm here. Then I go back to my test cards.

'Let's see now, Cream... What word can I think of next?' I look at my notes. The next word in the list is a harsh one: "death". I decide that maybe it would be better not to say that to her, so instead I look around my office, trying to think of something that might work as an alternative.

My desk russles and something burps inside of a drawer. It appears I'm out of _frootloops_.

'Oh, Cheese, that's naughty!' Cream says. 'Come out of the nice doctors desk.'

Cheese does as he is told. A few seconds later I have a sticky blue creature with bits of sugary sweet in its fur sitting on the couch before me. It looks at me and grins. '_Chao_!'

...Yes. I will definitely come out of these interviews needing some therapy myself.

I cough. 'Cheese.'

'Chao!' Cream laughs out loud, clapping. Cheese shares her enthusiasm, beating together two very tiny hands.

'Animal.'

'Um... Hedgehog,' Cream answers. Of course. I should've known.

'Person.'

'Doctor,' Cream smiles and... She's looking at me. I actually feel just the slightest bit privileged. Hey, there's nothing like being acknowledged by someone who's a seventh your age.

'Nurse.'

'Ella,' Cream says. Ah. That's a name I've heard before. I make a note of it as a recurring frequency. I don't _think_ they're interacting between tests, but you never know, and it seems it would be just like Cream hereto imitate Sonic simply for the sake of it.

'Why Ella?'

'Oh, because we sat together and watched a TV show about nurses and doctors in a big hospital,' she pats the Chao's sticky fur. 'But she turned the channel when it got to the scary parts.'

I nod.

'Television.'

'Next.'

'Fake.'

'Pretend.'

'...Fear.'

'Ghosts.' Cream says 'Like The ones that showed up at Mrs Thorndyke's film. They were really scary.'

I don't ask. I've seen a lot of Flair's movies, though, and I don't ever recall her starring in anything with _ghosts_. Hm.

I pause, glimpsing at my test card, wondering whether or not I should just say what's written there after all. I've already gone as far as "fear"...

'Death.'

She shuffles a bit and I barely hear her muttering. 'Stinks.'

I know words.

I've been trained to recognize them, you see. It's part instinct (the same thing that lets a mother know when her child is coming down with something before they know it themselves or that tells a teacher when their student has had more than a little help with their homework) mixed with good old fashioned psychology education. I know _words_, and I know when they don't belong with people. "Stinks" isn't really a typical choice of word for her.

'Did someone else say that to you?'

'Uhuh. Sonic said it,' Cream answers. Then she looks up, anxiously. 'It's not a bad word, is it?'

'No ,Cream, it's not a bad word. In fact, it's a very appropriate one. Death really _does_ stink.'

Cream sighs. The Chao appears to have fallen asleep on her lap. 'I'm lucky, really. Eggman does a lot of awful things but I still have all my friends with me, and my momma is okay, back in my world,' she shuffles on the seat, playing with the hem of her dress. 'I'm fine, they're fine. Everyone is just fine, but...'

'But?' I prompt and wait very patiently for her to speak. There are cracks beneath her happiness. The kind I see beneath so many of my human patients' smiles.

'But I worry sometimes,' she says quietly. 'Because Eggman might do something really bad one day, somewhere that Sonic isn't around and can't stop it. What happens then?'

'I'm... afraid I can't answer that question for you, Cream, I'm sorry,' I feel the need to apologise for the world's harshness. I'd like to think that she's too young to understand exactly how difficult the world can become but unfortunately, she probably isn't.

'In our house with the Thorndyke's,' Cream says eventually. 'There's a very old picture on the wall. There's a pretty woman who looks a little bit like Mister Thorndyke, and a young man. Except that it's not really a young man: it's Grandpa Chuck. The lady is the person he was married to. We've never seen her, because she's not around anymore.'

Ah. A grandmother. 'Do you know her name?'

'Yes,' Cream nods. 'Grandpa Chuck says that her name was Christine.'

_Definitely_ a grandmother. One who never met her grandchildren, and maybe even never her daughter in law because she was unlucky enough to live in the time period before measles vaccinations. That one got my grandmother too.

'Do you think she was a nice person?'

'I'm sure she was. She must have been. Grandpa Chuck married her after all,' Cream smiles. 'But he says she went away a long time ago "_to a place past the stars_". Doesn't that sound a long way away?'

Oh boy.

I've had this conversation before alright. I tap my pen against the notepad, steeling myself for questions harder to answer than the ones _I'm_ supposed to be asking _her_. Somehow it never seems to work out that way with her kind. 'Yes, it does... Maybe even further than Sonic can reach.'

This thought seems to boggle her for a second. When she looks up again, her eyes are thoughtful. Children and death are never comfortable subjects to have together in the same room at the same time, but as a psychiatrist with an added degree in grief counselling, it's something I'm honestly used to.

'I wasn't sure what it meant exactly. And neither were Amy, Ella and Sonic. Even _Tails_ didn't know, and he must be the smartest person I know. No one could tell me where it was... I think it must be a human place,' she says to me with that same, odd certainly I heard in her before. 'I don't think we have anywhere _beyond the stars_ in the world I come from. But it sounds lovely, don't you think? Only...' She pauses in a familiar confusion. 'Miss Christine is _there_, and we're all _here_. So Grandpa Chuck can't see her. And _I'm_ here so I can't even see _my_ mother. I can't even talk to her on the phone the way Chris can talk to his. And sometimes I think, if Doctor Eggman ever does something really bad... then maybe...'

_Then maybe, _I think silently.

There is a silent pause. The Chao hiccups on Cream's lap and she pulls the sleepy creature close, like a small doll. Something is hurting deep inside of me, and I put on my best professional facade to cover up the fact. 'I miss my mother,' Cream says quietly after a moment that feels like forever. 'Doctor... I miss her so much.'

It's not professional etiquette for a doctor to hug her patients/test cases.

But what the heck: it's not like this is a typical situation anyway.

* * *

_**Final Report Concerning Subject T.**_

_**Psychologist on Duty: Eloise S. Crowley.** _

_Subject is a shy and primarily immature individual, but may prove to be more perceptive than her immediate persona suggests. She is, nonetheless, still a six year old child and has many of the associated nuances and habits of children at that age. She showed slight anxiety upon being asked to enter the office, but relaxed once testing began and soon became friendly and communicative. She appeared particularly fond of the "inkblots" test, claiming that it was "like a game Sonic and I sometimes play with the clouds". _

_Subject spoke very fondly of the aforementioned hedgehog, and of her relationship with those she called "her family", none of whom she is genetically related to. She has also expressed a degree of loneliness and a strong desire –as one might anticipate in a child of her age so far from home– to be reunited with her mother, whom to the best of our knowledge still remains in the world from which subject originated. Subject explained in length about trips to the park and flower gardens in her own world (it can be assumed these public places take the same form as gardens in our own world, albeit perhaps with some features we humans might find more fantastical.) _

_Upon further enquiry, subject offered to make the psychologist a crown of flowers if she really wanted one. _

_Subject has strength matching a child of her age, is intelligent for her age group, but not incredibly so. Is seemingly very much away of the issues of life and death and the quandaries often evoked by both. Subject appears to have neither the desire, nor the abilities necessary to cause any significant level of harm to any individual. _

_In conclusion it seems highly unlikely that this child could possibly pose any kind of genuine threat to society. The analyser suggests that subject may also prove a helpful negotiator and point of contact between human children and the Other World. _

_**Potential Threat**__: Negligible to Nonexistent. _

_**Suggested Action**__: Subject is about as dangerous as her namesake and precisely as sweet. Any further threatening, invasive or potentially discriminating behaviour towards her is _strongly discouraged _and she should receive some form of attention dealing with the nature of her treatment upon arrival in this world_. _This psychologist does not believe that _shooting lasers at small children_ is an advisable course of action in any circumstance. _

* * *


	3. Tails

**I'd like to take a note to mention how much **_**fun**_** I'm finding this story is to write. There's just something about the way I can make it flow so steadily, and how I learn so much about characters doing it... man, no wonder this kind of fic is a staple in the larger fandoms. I figure everyone should be writing these things, if only as an exercise in character evolution and a lesson in avoiding OOCness. It frankly won't make any sense if you get the characters down too wrong. **

**That said, I now advance to the next chapter. Concrit and general reviews are still very much appreciated. I am very grateful for your input. **

* * *

In Theory.

Tails.

'Um... is it... a dragon?'

'It's whatever you think it looks like, Miles,' I say as reassuringly as I can. It's the third time I've told him this, and he still doesn't look particularly convinced. He wraps those two bushy tails around his body and holds only the tips, the same way I fiddle with my hair when anxious.

...I try not to look at those. He's probably tired of people staring.

He seems utterly freaked out. As if I'm about to bite his head off, or start accusing him of attempting to overthrow the government. The statistics sheet the government gathered from them before these meetings began lists the subject "Miles Prower" as a certified genius, but quite frankly I'm not seeing it. Every response he gives is stilted and unsure. Even his timid "um, hi" upon entering the room. I wonder if this is how he behaves around everyone or if I'm just a special case.

He shifts uneasily. I wonder vaguely whether or not those tails of his might be getting in the way. (They probably aren't a natural occurrence, but I can't be sure. Heck, I'm a psychologist, not a biology teacher). 'I _think_ it's a dragon,' he says. 'Or maybe a really big lizard... It's kind of hard to tell when the pictures are just made out of blotches.'

'Well that's basically the idea,' I say, leaning back in my chair. It's been ages since I had a chance to move around. I'm getting pins and needles in my crossed legs. 'There's no exact rule as to what's there. It's down to the individual to interpret the images.'

'And from those interpretations... you believe you can understand us, somehow.' He says, looking thoughtful. 'I get all that. I'm not entirely sure how it _works_ though. I mean, so far I've recognized a jet plane, something that looked a little like Cheese the Chao, a hedgehog, a roller skate, the inside of a Chaos Energy Funnel Pipe, like the one installed in my X Tornado, and a pony.' He scratches his head. 'I don't especially see what all this tells you about me.'

'Well for a start it tells me that you know more about tricky machinery than I do. And possibly that don't get out enough,' I say casually. He seems to get the joke and sniggers. That sensation I had while talking to Sonic... I'm feeling it again right now: the need to make him smile and relax and not feel so intimidated by my presence. It's not a surprising attitude, of course. As I've already noted, most people who come here don't do so because they honestly desire the company of a shrink.

I turn to the next card and Miles stares at it with the same intensity he did all the others, leaning forwards slightly on the couch. It's like he thinks he's bound to find an actual, solid answer to an undefined question if he only stares at it long and hard enough. 'Um... a hedgehog?'

I turn the card over and gaze at it myself. It's the same card Sonic said looked like a hedgehog when he was in here. 'Hm. Yes, I suppose it is. And you know, that's the second time you've said hedgehog during this test,' I say. Obvious implications, much?

He smiles vaguely. 'I know a lot of hedgehogs. There's Sonic and Amy, and Shadow... well, there was Shadow. I suppose you've heard all about him?'

I nod. I know what the government decided to tell us, at any rate. And what they decided to tell us was that a strange black hedgehog that looked almost exactly like Sonic started rampaging around the place, stealing powerful artefacts before disappearing into space along with about half of Sonic's "people" (I honestly can't think what else to call them. I'm not sure if their planet even has a _name_).

And of course I was in the square that time when Doctor Gerald Robotnik's videos started playing around the world. Like everyone else, I stood there in the street, clutching my briefcase and hoping to god that Sonic was up there doing something about it.

Placing my life in the hands of the same blue hedgehog who I've just been psychoanalysing to determine whether or not he's a threat to our society. After everything he's done... I kind of have to wonder what the president and his men are thinking, having me sit down here and run these people through the psychological meat grinder (that's a bit of an exaggeration, I know, but no one likes to have their head analysed and their innermost thoughts exposed). Is this how people with unique abilities –with strengths greater than our own– are judged these days? With eyes of fear and confusion, even when all they want to do is help us?

Sad, but true. I'm a psychologist. I know the way the human mind works.

Of course, now isn't the time for me to be having an attack of conscience. I have a job to do (and a straight forward, unbiased, _patriotic_ job, at that), and I will do it to the best of my ability. With any luck the cards will come out in Sonic and his friends' favour, so to speak.

'Don't worry, Miles. We're almost done with this particular test anyway, just a few more cards to go.' He doesn't seem entirely happy but settles down again anyway. I turn to the next card in my pack.

'That one... looks kind of like the X-Tornado, if it were purple,' he says, sounding a little surer of his answers than before. I really should ask him about the X Tornado. It sounds like a powerful piece of machinery of the type I'm probably supposed to be checking their capacity to use. This _is_ why we're here after all: to see whether or not they're somehow dangerous.)

Like this guy could ever be a danger to anyone or anything. It's honestly quite hard to believe, looking at him now; sitting perched on the edge of the couch with his tails pulled close and his ears twitching.

Maybe I'll ask him about the X Tornado later. I turn the card.

'That one's like a blimp, or something. It also kind of looks as if it's got Doctor Eggman's face on the side.' He visibly shudders. 'Creepy.'

I have to agree with him. '_Very_ creepy.' I flip to the next card.

'Um... something that's rolled up in a tight ball. Like an echidna or a hedgehog.'

Again. I turn to the last card.

He looks at it for a very long moment. Then he sniggers. Pauses, tries to quench his smile, and then bursts out laughing all over again. I hear him mutter something in between gasps but I can't make out what it is.

'Um... Miles?'

'S-sorry,' he chuckles, finally composing himself. 'It's just... aw, man; Sonic's going to find that really funny. T-that card looks just like someone stuck... Knuckles' head on Eggman's body and gave him Amy's hammer.'

He bursts out laughing again.

I stare at the card myself, blinking. I haven't got the faintest idea what he just meant. Still, at least he's relaxing at last.

* * *

Six cards later (sheep, rabbit, spiked wheel, butterfly, lake and Mrs Thorndyke's hairdo) and Miles Prower's good humour is starting to wear off. So, apparently, is his patience. 'Are we nearly done yet? There are an awful lot of these cards, and I have work I should be doing right now.'

'Not quite,' I admit. 'There's still half an hour to go.'

'Oh...' he looks disappointed. I don't blame him. I've seen these cards too many times myself. They're changed regularly in order to keep them a secret, but after a few years they all begin to look the same anyway. I imagine if you sat me in his position and made me do this test myself, all I would see would be a bunch of splodges. 'Okay, I guess... what's next?'

I turn to the next card.

'The Ghost of King Boo,' Miles says, very correctly. I resist the temptation to ask (it's probably something to do with that movie set Cream was talking about earlier, I suppose). 'Looks just like him when he was being sucked back into that pedestal... Yeah. Definitely King Boo. Next?'

Next card. 'A dinosaur. Like the one Cream watches on television... you have some strange TV here, by the way. _Really_ strange. And I'm not just talking about the times when Eggman takes over the network.'

'Mm. Yeah, he seems to do that an awful lot, doesn't he?' I say. It's funny, really. Nobody really has any idea just how that deranged madman keeps managing to hijack the satellite system, the terrestrial network, the Internet and the Traffic surveillance cameras all at the same time, but it's really _disturbing_. Makes you feel a little less safe in your own home.

I turn to the next card in the book.

Miles smiles and chuckles a little to himself. 'Two hedgehogs. They're either having a fight or kissing.'

'Hedgehogs again?' I ask, as politely as I can.

His reaction to this is just as I anticipated it would be, and his smile fades away very quickly. Figures. This is the part where most of my more intelligent patients start to work out exactly what I'm up to and what the blotchy cards are all about. 'You know, if you want to know something you could always just ask me straight, Doctor,' he says. 'You don't have to dance around the questions. I wouldn't lie to you.'

I wait a moment after he says this, because I was expecting it and I'm waiting to discover his reaction to his own statement. His expression slowly changes from vaguely irritated to worried all over again. He clings to his tails.

'Is that what you think?' I ask, eventually. 'That we don't trust you to tell the truth?'

'It's... what some of the others think sometimes,' He says. I'm not so sure myself, but I guess they have a point. I mean all we're trying to do is find a way to get home and keep Eggman from causing trouble while we're here, and yet there's always trouble for _us _whenever one of you guys has a camera in the vicinity. Sonic's been locked up in one of your prisons, and had everyone chasing after him thinking he's some kind of crazy light-destroying monster... You can see why he gets a little hyped up,' he shrugs, explaining his friend's actions without any of his previous uncertainty or anxiousness. 'And you certainly seem to be trying to avoid asking me anything directly. You just try to read me through cards and funny blotchy picture. Really, just talking directly to me would be a lot simpler.' He smiles. 'I'll even put my hand on that book and swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, like a guy did in that movie I saw.'

Yeah. The kid is smarter than he seems alright. 'You're an intelligent individual, Miles Prower.'

'Um... thanks,' He looks genuinely flattered. I figure the kid doesn't get enough praise in his life. 'I'm sorry if I sounded like I was insulting you. It's just... this is all a little frustrating. Sonic thinks so too and that's really odd. Because unless Doctor Eggman is trying to blow stuff up again, Sonic doesn't usually get too bothered about things. It's not his style, you know?' I nod. Yes, I certainly do know. I've seen several layers more than most people seem to believe exist in that spiky blue character myself already, and I was only with him for an hour. Goodness only knows what his friend here has seen.

'I get the impression that Sonic is a little unnerved by your treatment?'

'It's not that he gets angry or anything he just... doesn't understand you. And normally that wouldn't bother him, but he's gotten into so many scrapes here which _aren't_ to do with Eggman. Like that time we were supposed to meet the president?'

'It's been mentioned to me, yes.'

'Well, Sonic had told our friend Helen that he'd take her to the island on that day, and he promised her _before_ the president asked him. It would be wrong of him to break his promise, so why did people start _chasing them_ everywhere the way they did? Or what about that time they locked Cream up in that Military base? It's not like we _wanted_ to break her out, we would've rang the doorbell or something if they'd only looked as if they'd answer it when we did.'

He sighs. Settles just a little in his chair. All of a sudden I get the feeling that I'm the one who should be answering questions. Or at the very least trying to... 'None of us really know why we're here or 

what you want from us. And those men in black suits and sunglasses were really, _really_ bossy. You know I was right in the middle of a very delicate experiment when they showed up and said we had to "go with them _right_ away".' He folds his arms, looking irked. 'I had to leave it unobserved to come here.'

'Well, I sealed everything off, but you'd better hope it doesn't explode while I'm gone or something.

'I'm sure my employers will be more than happy to refund you for the damages any... explosion might cause. Rest assured, Miles, we're not here just because we feel like slowing down scientific progress for a while.' I wink at him. I think he gets this joke as well, but he doesn't smile.

'Oh... well, that would be nice of them.' He sighs. 'And I guess it's not your fault we're here. You're just doing your job, right?' He looks at me. His eyes are blue and bright and nothing like a fox's eyes should be.

'And yet you still look unsettled,' I see his reaction to my last sentence written all over his face. Something in my phrasing bothers him.

'No, I'm alright. It's just been a while since anyone called me that,' his nose wrinkles. He looks just how any normal fox might look if they were trying to smile and frown at the same time. 'I'd forgotten how much I didn't like it.'

'You mean the name Miles Prower?' A part of me wants to latch onto this as some kind of child-parent complex. I've been working with too many juvenile delinquents. 'Why?'

He shuffles. 'Um. Say it really fast. And without a break between words.'

I do this mentally, and then have to laugh at my own lack of foresight. With all my training about word association, I should probably have recognized the pun sooner. 'Oh.'

'I know, it's ridiculous.'

'No, it's not, it's... well. I can understand why you don't find it so funny yourself. It _is_ your name, after all.' I cough to compose myself. 'So then, what _should_ I call you?'

'Well pretty much everyone I know calls me Tails,'

Tails. Of course. What else would he be named? 'Did you come up with that yourself?'

'Nah, it was Sonic's idea,' Miles –_Tails_– shrugs. 'He didn't much like the name "Miles Prower" either. Tails sounds a lot cooler.'

Tails. I run the word over and over in my head to familiarise myself with it. Why be anything less than direct? Even his chosen name is a case of "what you see is what you get".

'In that case, may I call you Tails?'

Tails smiles at me, no longer seeming annoyed. 'Sure, if I can call you Eloise.'

* * *

'Well then, Tails, since we've both agreed to be direct and just say what we feel, why don't you tell me about your parents?' I have to smile to myself as I quote the old axiom. People never believe me when I tell them that they actually really _do_ ask things like that in a psychiatrist's office. Questions like "tell me about your relationship with your father" and "and when did you last see your mother" and "did you have a happy childhood". I guess we have to thank good old Sigmund Freud for something.

'My parents? Well... I wouldn't know,' Tails says. 'I never really knew 'em. I've been on my own for pretty much as long as I can remember. Well,' he pauses, smiling. 'Not _really_ on my own. I met Sonic, and then I met a lot of other people through him

It's not that.' _It's just that I think you might be right. You might be right about everything and I really, _really_ hope my other patients aren't as smart as you are_. 'Sonic seems to be an amazing person.'

'Yeah. He is. And life with him... well, it's sure never dull.'

'So you never knew your parents.'

'Fairly sure not, yah,' Tails nods. 'Not much about them anyway. I lived with family members and... I remember building a lot of stuff. I guess I didn't get on with a lot of people. The reason being fairly obvious.' He twitches both tails slightly, just in case it isn't obvious enough.

'This is unusual?'

'Having two tails? Yeah, sure it is. It's kinda like a human having three arms, only not as useful.'

Bullying. It stands to reason. Looks like it isn't just a purely human phenomenon. I imagine his intelligence wasn't always such an advantage in the world he comes from. 'And you never knew what happened to your parents.'

'Nope,' he says, and he doesn't sound too concerned about it. Understandable. He never really knew them. 'I think maybe I got abandoned. That wouldn't be too unusual'

'Because of...' I nod in the direction of his tails.

'Yeah, I suppose it could've been that. We did tests and we're fairly sure it's not a genetic phenomenon, so I don't think either of them must've had it. And abandonment happens sometimes, when kids aren't born looking the way they should. But I don't normally think about it too much. I guess I hope they're okay, and happy, wherever they are. I have Sonic and the others.' He smiles.

'I'd like to think you receive a lot less harassment about such things here.' I say, in what I suppose is reassurance. 'But I'm afraid humans have a tendency to judge things based entirely on appearances too. A picture says a thousand words, but those words aren't always accurate.'

Tails chuckles. 'Well, we pretty much _all_ stand out like an extra tail around here, ma'am,' he says, smiling at me again. 'I guess I'm not so unusual anymore.'

* * *

The hour is up long before I want it to be. I'm just beginning to understand the intricacies of this Chaos Control when my beeper goes signalling that my next session should have started five minutes earlier.

Tails is very polite about it, even though I know he's in a rush to get away as quickly as possible (and no doubt mentions this tale of his to all the others, as I have no doubt Sonic and Cream, have done before him. They don't give off the impression of being people who like to keep secrets from each other). He says please and thank you and offers to see himself out and everything. And he smiles the whole time (at least partly in relief), with no indication of his earlier irritation.

I think about Sonic. A blue blur playing big brother to a little mutant fox cub who never knew his parents and is probably more gifted than any human child I've ever known.

My mind near boggles.

I take a deep breath and assure myself I'm asking my last question for purely professional reasons. 'Do you... regret the way things have turned out, Tails? The situation you're all in?'

He pauses and looks at me, head tilted slightly. 'I'm not sure what you mean exactly,' he admits, shrugging and smiling, seemingly to himself. 'But I'm fairly sure I don't regret anything much at all about my life, Ella. Not even the bad parts.'

* * *

_Final Report Concerning Subject U._

_Psychologist on Duty: Eloise S. Crowley. _

_Subject U has displayed a level of intelligence which surpasses that of most humans, developed technical knowledge and is capable of performing calculations which many of earth's most advanced technical minds might struggle to fathom. A full IQ exanimation and General Intelligence Test is advisable. It is highly likely that subject possesses a level of technical knowledge that falls beyond that of most of our best scientific minds. However, subject's performance is also greatly affected by his self esteem. Uncertainty or discomfort leads to his making errors or mistakes. _

_Subject is, basically, a great deal more intelligent than he realises. _

_Thus far, Subject U has shown himself to be the only individual amongst their kind to possess both a standard fore and surname. This suggests that naming in their world may not be entirely based on an appraisal of the character. Subject mentions being less than fond of his original name, preferring to go by the moniker of "Tails". He claims this name was suggested by Sonic and has "stuck ever since". Displays a certain amount of apparent hero worship" towards the aforementioned Sonic. Possibly enough to affect his rational judgement, though this remains unlikely. _

_During our session, the subject made also several remarks relating to an incident which occurred during their arrival in this world. During this incident, he apparently aided and abetted the escape of two of his fellows (Subjects S and T respectively) from a high-security military facility casing severe damage to their equipment in the process. Subject has expressed some believable regret about the incidents but claims he "thought it was necessary at the time". He has expressed much gratitude towards the government for their decision to drop all charges against him. subject's performance in previous tests, and his responses to many key questions, suggest that his regret and gratitude are genuine. _

_While unlikely to willingly commit a crime of any sorts without provokation, subject is nonetheless likely capable of circumnavigating some of the Western World's most powerful security systems with little difficulty. _

_**Potential Threat**__: Moderate. _

_**Suggested Action**__: Enrolment in a local university course. Employment by the government. Continued surveillance. _

* * *


	4. Amy Rose

**Having done a little more research into types of psychological evaluation, I've discovered several further types of study which I realise could have worked well in previous chapters. Shame it's too late to go back and put them in. **

**Understand I am not a psychologist and I write this story with only supplemental knowledge of the area. Any constructive criticism or advice regarding my findings would be very appreciated.**

* * *

Amy Rose.

My next subject is... different to the others. Mainly because she actually chooses to lie down after a few minutes in my company. I always take note of the patients who are willing to do that. Most don't. Like I said –the couch is in part what worries people. Lying down makes them feel more vulnerable than they want to appear.

Something tells me that there is nothing vulnerable about this girl.

The oversized hammer she's got hanging from her right hand over the edge of the couch might have something to do with that.

'So, Doctor... I guess you guys must think we're causing a lot of trouble, huh?'

I look up from my notes when she says that, pushing my spectacles further up my nose and putting a lot of effort into not frowning. 'Why would you think that?'

'Well, I kind of thought that was why we're here in the first place,' Amy says, looking at me through bright green eyes which are very much like Sonic's. 'I mean, Eggman is causing a lot of problems in Station Square right now, and it's not like that's _our_ fault, but I suppose he _is_ only here because of something that Sonic did and... Well. Yeah. Problems.' She laughs nervously and folds an arm behind her head.

Every psychological theory and study in the world has situations in which it simply doesn't work. It's like how the Inkblot test told me virtually nothing about Sonic, and how talking to Cream about her friends and family didn't tell me nearly as much as her answers in the Word Association Test did. It's impossible for me to rely on Amy's body language here. A nervous twitch is followed by a shrug, and a shuffle, and a fiddle with her hair and then a smile. It's just too complicated for me to even begin working her out that way.

This means that I'll simply have to rely on her answers. Shouldn't be too difficult. She doesn't seem the type to hold anything back.

'It has been rather messy here since you and all your friends showed up, Amy,' I say in answer to her previous comment. 'But you don't need to worry about me blaming you for anything. Just relax and be yourself.'

'Suits me,' Amy says, and then she sits up, kicking her legs against the chair. 'It's not Sonic's fault either, you know.' She says anxiously. 'I mean I know he can be a dork sometimes, and he just doesn't _think_ enough about _anything_ and he doesn't pay attention when you're talking... and he sure as heck doesn't understand the finer things in life, like... oh, I don't know. Taking his really cute and thoroughly devoted potential girlfriend to the movies.' She pauses, sighing, and I wait patiently for her to return to her previous train of thought. Sometimes, I think, you just have to be patient. 'But it's not like he _asks_ Doctor Eggman to try and take over the planet, just to give him something to 

do. And what Knuckles says about him always deliberately going out and looking for trouble? Well that's a whole load of bull, Miss Doctor, all of it! Knuckles just needs to lighten up a little, is all. It isn't _Sonic's_ fault.'

I decide to try the direct approach. 'Then what is his fault?'

Amy blinks. 'Excuse me?'

'Well you seem very sure that none of the problems Station Square has experienced to date are a result of Sonic meddling,' I shrug casually. 'But you also seem to suppress a certain amount of annoyance towards him. If you don't think he's causing any trouble for us, then what _are_ you so annoyed about?'

Amy's body visibly tenses up, and her hair (quills? They're quills, right? Just like Sonics) seems to tense with her. 'I... I never said I was annoyed. Why would I be annoyed? Sonic's okay. We're all okay. There's no reason for me to be annoyed with him at all.'

Forget what I said before. She _does_ hold things back. Albeit not very well.

I place down my notepad.

'I can also safely say that absolutely nothing you say to me will leave the confines of this room. May my psychology licence be revoked if I'm lying.'

'You... really mean that?' She doesn't look entirely convinced. I don't blame her. When I was her age, I didn't believe a word most grown ups said to me either. Now that I'm older I can see that my suspicions were in part justified. But _only_ in part.

I cross my heart. 'Doctor's honour. If there's anything wrong, no matter what it is or how it affects anyone else, then want you to feel like you can tell me about it without fear of reprisal. If I hear anything that I'll honestly_ have_ to repeat to someone else– and it'll have to be pretty serious before I will, mind you– then I'll be sure to tell you first.'

'Right. So in other words, you _do_ think there's a problem here?' she looks at me suspiciously, fingers tightening around her hammer. I'm certain she's not _threatening_ me, but her demeanour is irritated, all the same. The hammer seems to be a kind of reassurance tactic.

Hm. Most people prefer a security blanket.

'Not really,' I shake my head. 'The purpose of these sessions is to determine whether or not there _is_ a problem, or whether one might arise in the future, not to diagnose one that already exists, Amy.'

'You mean you guys are trying to find out about a problem that hasn't started yet?' She frowns. 'But that's _silly_. Why suggest a problem is going to be there before it actually is? Isn't that kind of like tempting fate, or something?

'I know,' I smile vaguely. 'Crazy, isn't it? In some states a person actually has to declare themselves insane and have themselves committed just to prove that they _aren't_ insane and don't _need_ to be committed.'

'Yeah, that sounds like a messed up human system, to me,' Amy sighs. Still, she appears to calm down a little. There is silence for a few moments while we regard each other. I have the strangest feeling that, were I anyone else in any other circumstance, she would be smiling and chatting to me about makeup, or something.

No chats about make up here. But she is still a teenage girl nonetheless; everything about her suggests as much, from her defensiveness, to her smile to the way she folds her arms behind her head.

Maybe I'll skip the word association test, this time around.

* * *

'Um... yeah, I think that one's a flower, too,' she mutters a little sheepishly while staring at the latest in a long line of inkblots. Thus far, she's the only one of them who seems to have grasped that what she she's in the images doesn't have to be what I _want_ her to see. She's also said something similar for pretty much all the cards she's looked at so far. They've either been flowers, or leaves, or beautiful gardens. Even the ones that I wouldn't ever imagine look anything like that.

'You think so?' I frown a little. 'I'm not seeing that myself.'

'It is, if you look at it upside down,' she says, as if it's obvious. 'What's next?'

I turn to a new card.

'Falling petals. I think they're from a cherry blossom tree, or something,' she smiles faintly.

_Flip_.

'A silver birch tree, with its leaves falling in autumn.'

_Flip_.

'Another rose.'

_Flip_.

'Rose again. But just in bud this time.'

_Flip_.

'Oh, _that_ one's not a flower,' she exclaims, sounding almost... relieved. She tilts her head a little to one side. 'Looks a little like the roots of a tree, though. Or like a hairclip I had once.'

If it's not plants its trees, or wildlife or the world around her. (Or, occasionally, accessories). She's remarkably easy to read.

She lingers on the next card for a little longer before answering. 'A butterfly, with Chaos Emeralds painted on its wings.'

'Very poetic.'

'You think so?' She seems quite pleased with this analysis. 'Yeah, I think so too. Romantic minds just come out with these things I suppose. Next?'

I flip the card.

'A bunch of hyacinths, just like the ones in the Thorndyke's garden.'

'Why do you think there are so many flowers, Amy Rose?'

'You just answered your own question' she smiles. 'Rose by name, rose by nature, I suppose. There is no problem that can't be made better with flowers, see?'

I beg to differ (I'm going to need a lot more than just a nice bunch of flowers to convince the president of my analysis of these people thus far) but don't. Just turn over the page and show the final card in the pack.

'Urgh. Now that one is just like Eggman,' she frowns. 'Hey, did you put that one in there on purpose.'

'No,' I say. 'The cards are decided by external adjudicators long before I get my hands on them.' I don't tell her that Sonic said this one was Eggman, too. I think maybe I'll change the cards before the next patient. The only thing I'm reassuring myself of here is that they don't _like_ that world-conquering maniac anymore than anyone else in this world does. We have that much in common, at least. 'I'm guessing you guys don't like Eggman all that much, huh?'

'Are you kidding?' Amy grunts uncharacteristically, folding her arms. 'The guy's an absolute jerk. Not only does he try to take over every darn place we've ever been to, _and_ distract Sonic when I'm trying to spend some time with him, _and_ try and hurt my friends all the time, _and_ get us wrapped up in his silly plots to rule the world, but he's always using _me_ as bait! _Me_! Not that I honestly _mind_ being rescued; not if _Sonic's_ doing it; but I can take care of myself.' She sighs irritably, flopping back in her chair. 'It's because I'm the girl, isn't it? It's always because they're the girl in the movies. What does _that_ tell you about society, huh Doctor?'

'Do you hate him?' Time to get back to some direct _Q and A_, I think.

She seems to think about this for longer than she has any of my questions so far. 'You know it's funny... but I'm not sure if I do. I guess I do, but mostly it's just that he _annoys_ me so much. It's not like any of his harebrained schemes ever work_,_ and yet he always manages to make me look so... _incompetent_.'

I say nothing. Still, if there's one thing that I'm sure this girl isn't, then it's incompetent. Except possibly in the areas of diplomacy, but then again, I consider that something of a fine art, myself.

'Maybe your recent skirmishes have warned him off,' I suggest hopefully. 'With any luck he'll stay away for a while after that attack on his Main Base.'

'Yeah well, he'd better stay away from my Sonic,' Amy Rose's fists tighten. 'Because _this_ rose has a few thorns up her sleeves, Doctor.'

I have no doubt about that.

* * *

'Anyway, I already know I have a problem,' she sighs, wrinkling her nose in the manner of an irritated child and simultaneously frowning with the annoyance of a woman wronged. I realise, after a moment, that she is in fact answering a comment I made over half an hour ago. 'And I know what that problem is too: it's blue, approximately three feet tall, extremely fast on its feet and unable to hold a focus on _anything_ for more than fifteen seconds. Oh, tell me the truth Doctor!' she sits up very suddenly, leaning on the end of the chair and the hammer and staring at me through exceptionally large green eyes. 'Did he say _anything_ about me while he was in here?'

'Sorry, Miss Rose, but I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose information about my other patient. That would be a breach of my contract.'

'Oh,' she deflates a little. I have to feel sorry for her. 'That sucks. That you can't talk about it I mean. But I guess it's for the best. I wouldn't like it if someone went around telling people what I thought. I owe him that.'

'But what you say to me will only be mentioned in a written report,' I remind her. 'And only then if I feel it's relevant to our current worldly situation.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that I don't think the president of the United States is going to be too interested in what miss Amy Rose thinks about a certain Sonic the hedgehog,' I smile conspiringly. What I'm saying is mostly the truth. 'So why don't yell me exactly what you think? I promise he won't hear anything from me, unless, that is, you _want_ him to.'

She still doesn't look all that persuaded. But she also looks like a girl with something to say. One way or another, I tell myself, I am going to find out what that something is. 'Oh, I don't know,' Amy says, shrugging her shoulders uneasily and toying with the handle of her hammer again. 'I mean, why try and hide anything from the people you really care about? They'll only find out sooner or later.'

Maybe there _is_ something vulnerable about her. Figures. I realise that I should know better than to make assumptions in the first place. It's just that all of this feels so much like talking to a bunch of characters who have stepped straight out of a comic book and into my office that it's hard not to think of the appropriate stereotypes. If Miles –No, _Tails_– is the misunderstood genius, and Sonic is the cocky, confident hero, and Cream is the cute, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly-shaped-like-Eggman, not-a-mean-bone-in-her-body little girl, then Amy Rose? Is the Teenager With a Crush.

'You must care about him very much.'

'Yes I do,' she says. It sounds like the most incredibly honest thing that any of them have ever said to me. 'I care about him more than anything. And he cares about me too, right? I mean, I've told him about it time and again, and yet he just shrugs and doesn't _do anything_ about it!' She looks to me for confirmation I can't give. A memory flickers through my mind of Sonic, saying a Rorschach's Ink Blot looked just like a flower garden, and another like "the back of Amy's head". I know now what he meant, but I can't tell her anything she wants to hear for certain.

Darn it. This is all starting to sound ridiculous, isn't it? I'm supposed to be a psychologist, not the writer of a romance column in a newspaper. This is _not_ within my job description.

I guess I read too many of my mother's trashy novels as a kid. 'Perhaps,' I say eventually. 'Or perhaps not. In the end, Amy, at least you'll have been honest with him, and you'll know for sure why things turned out the way they did. You'll know you were never trying to be anyone but yourself.

'Yeah, I suppose that's true,' Amy smiles ever so slightly, reassured about who she is, perhaps, if not about who she cares for.

Once again, I find myself wondering how anyone could possibly be afraid of these creatures.

* * *

'Um. Do I really _have_ to do this?'

She kneels at the coffee table between us; pen in hand, staring with some disdain at one of the pieces of paper lying before her.

'You don't have to do anything you don't want to Amy,' I say. 'But it could be helpful in the long run.'

'Yeah. Grandpa Chuck told us that you'd probably come out with something like that,' Amy chews the end of the felt tip pen. So I've just got to draw a person, right?

Mhm. No rules. Just draw a man on one page, a woman on another, and yourself on the third.

'How do I draw them?'

'Any way you want to. Like I said, there are no rules.' I smile reassuringly. She seems about as influenced by this as Tails was by the Inkblots.

'How am I supposed to know _that_?' She frowns. 'Everyone looks different where I come from. It kind of depends what species you are.' Ah, I think .that's right. I'd forgotten how things work where they come from. She sighs. She's been doing an awful lot of that since she came in the room. 'Did you do this one with Cream? She actually _likes_ drawing.'

'No, I didn't,' I ran out of time, and now that I think about it, that's a shame, because it might've been a good idea. There's a Kinetic Family Drawing test which is very much like this one that I think would have been perfect for Cream.

That said, I don't believe it would've told me anything about her that I didn't already know.

'No problem. Look; I'll take a couple of these sheets home. I can get her to draw a picture for you there, if that's alright.' Amy smiles at me. 'She really does like drawing pictures anyway.'

'I... That would be helpful, thank you.' I know I'm not really allowed to take into consideration any evidence brought in from _outside_ of the session, but what the heck. A small part of me still wants to see the kind of pictures little Cream would paint.

'No problem,' Amy smiles. 'So okay, then... any way I want to, right?'

I nod, and she begins drawing. While she does so I take the opportunity to examine her hammer. 'Excuse me, but may I?'

'What? Oh, you mean my Pico Pico. Sure,' she barely looks up from what she is already scribbling. 'Go ahead, there's plenty more where that came from. Hey, do you have a pink?'

'Sorry, no.' I really should replace that. It's important to have every colour possible available when you're using them for things like this. I reach out and take the handle of the hammer in my hand.

My first thought is about how heavy it is. It's not ridiculously weighty, but certainly more than most people her age and stature would be capable of handling. It seems to be crafted with thick, brightly coloured plastic. Feels like coloured plastic, too. And there's something strange and intangible about it. As if, despite its heaviness and solidity, it could disappear at a moment's notice. It's strange to think that I'm holding something so otherworldly in my hands (and must look quite ridiculous doing so). A quiet little voice inside of my brain is also reminding me that "Pico" is in fact, also the name of a videogame character from a ridiculously old series of Nintendo games. Figures.

Amy finishes her first image. 'Here. I had to improvise without any pink. I know it looks kind of silly, but I'm really not much of an artist, and I wasn't expecting to be tested in my hand-eye coordination, you know?'

'No, I like it' I say. And I honestly do. 'The dress looks lovely.' Rather like yours, I don't add.

'Yeah, in the end I just decided to draw me, since I'm the first girl I could think of. I guess this one counts for that other picture you wanted too, right?'

'I guess it does. One more, then?'

'Oh-kay,' she still doesn't seem too sure about this. 'But I'm still a little old for colouring pens. What am I going to tell Sonic if I come out of here with ink all over my gloves?'

I consider telling her that she could always tell him that _she_ knows, but... no. That would involve breaching my client-confidentiality clause, wouldn't it? Darn. 'You could always take them off?'

'Thanks, but I'll pass,' she says. She's already scribbling away again, clearly enjoying it more than she wants me to assume.

I'm really not surprised to see that she's using the _blue_ felt tip for this one.

Or that she's doodling a little red love heart in one corner of the image.

Or that by the time our hour's session is over, there are another three pages covered in doodles. Mostly of blue and red-but-should-e-pink hedgehogs, love hearts, and the occasional image of something that looks like Eggman. Being hit over the head by a really large hammer.

This is perhaps the most informative session of Drawing Therapy I've ever had.

* * *

_Final Report Concerning Subject V._

_Psychologist on Duty: Eloise S. Crowley. _

_Subject is the oldest female of the group assigned to this study, describing herself as a teenager. Though she refused to state her age directly claiming that it was rude to ask a lady her age. She did mention that she was something along the lines of "eight, or twelve. It depends". (Biophysical studies have suggested she is closer to the Twelve-to-Thirteen ratio. This would also appear to fit in with her personality and attitude, at least from a human perspective.)_

_Subject's moods can fluctuate rapidly between calm and happy to irritated and even enraged. This is no doubt a result of her age groups natural hormone levels (again this is an assumption based on human findings and may not apply to non human species)_

_Mentally the subject appears as sound as any young girl of her age group and has a poetic yet primarily pre-adolescent sense of language and dialogue. The subject's strong affections for the individual known as Sonic (likely a compatible species) are extremely obvious (demonstrated by the Drawing Therapy Tests as noted in the previous file), and occasionally cross over the mentally defined boundaries of obsession. More accurately than anything, her desires could be simply described as a youthful infatuation typical of those in her age group. Whether this holds true for her species as well as our own is as of yet unclear. Subject has a temper when provoked. _

_Suggest possesses a higher than normal strength as demonstrated by her yielding heavy and creatively designed weaponry (see psychical stats for more details) can be prone to angry outbursts when threatened or afraid. Has shown an evident hatred towards a known governmental antagonist, Eggman, (see the Primary Defence Strategy: Code Red on the State Charter) though her dislike of him seems to tem less from his hostility, and more from his tendency to "distract" Sonic away from her. She resents being used as "bait" in his schemes for world domination and appears to possess a feminist, strong minded attitude. _

_Subject is highly likely to act with volatility should Eggman choose to threaten her or anyone she cares about. Is also highly capable of following through her threats, though only under extreme circumstances. _

_**Potential Threat**__: Slim to Moderate _

_**Suggested Action**__: None apparent at present. Continued surveillance is suggested. _

* * *


	5. Knuckles

**This is my favourite chapter so far, both due to my fondness for Knuckles and to the fact that it actually begins to explain something about how the characters ended up in this situation in the first place. Rest assured, this **_**is**_** a planned out (mostly) and organized story with a set beginning, middle and end and is not merely an ongoing monologue which will carry on for as long as I can come up with new characters to stick in the chair. **

**I unfortunately can't take requests for chapters as a result of this story being planned out in advance, as well as set during a clear point in the **_**Sonic X **_**timeline. For example, there can be no chapter for Shadow seeing as this is set not long after the ARK incident during season two.**

**Standard disclaimers apply. Reviews and concrit are both immensely appreciated. Particularly the latter. **

* * *

Knuckles. 

It takes an entire six minutes before he'll so much as acknowledge my presence. And even then he barely offers a grunt and a nod when I give him my name. I choose to call myself "Ella", since the name obviously means something to them.

It feels a lot longer than just six minutes. The air between us hangs as thickly as it did the time I had to perform a psychological analysis on an Ex-Secret Service Agent with a false identity, a metal plate in his skull and a nervous twitch in both shoulders. My latest subject, however, isn't twitching in the slightest. On the contrary; he sits so virtually still that he might as well be some kind of overstuffed cuddly toy. Except that most cuddly toys aren't made with such sullen expressions on their faces.

'You seem annoyed,' I state, after another two and a half minutes. 'I had a feeling when you came in: you don't really want to be here anymore than your friends.'

He continues to say nothing. This is a familiar scenario, even given the oddity of the person in question. I'm used to people being sent here who simply don't _want_ to talk. Who want nothing more than to be left alone with their thoughts, however self destructive such a desire may be. I'm beginning to think that his species doesn't matter in the slightest: I still know his type. They're quite a lot like human beings, actually.

As for knowing what he's _thinking_? Well, that's a different matter altogether.

Another thirty five seconds pass before he opens his eyes and looks at me firmly from beneath a furrowed brow. 'Yeah, I'd say I have a good reason,' he says. It's the first thing he's said to me. 'Look, miss, I know you probably think this is important but I really don't want to waste my time here. Or _yours_ for that matter.'

'Believe me, my time is far from wasted, Knuckles,' I smile at him. 'May I call you that?'

'Why not? It _is_ my name,' Knuckles answers. Well, sarcasm usually turns out to be more productive than silence, at least.

Another one who seems very true to their namesake. I've seen a few recordings of this guy in action myself. I know he's fast, though probably not as fast as Sonic; and I know he's strong enough to shatter fifty story concrete buildings with those fists of his; I've seen him do it. It's entirely possible, given this destructive side of his nature that I am sitting with a time bomb which could go off at any moment...

And yet something tells me that I'm in no danger. More than anything? He just seems _grumpy_.

'Knuckles, then. I suppose we've mentioned that we're grateful for your assistance?' Though given that he doesn't seem all that happy to be here, I'm not sure why he _offered_ it...

He seems to read my mind. 'Well I didn't show up because of anything _your_ people did,' he grunts. 'I only came here because Chris asked me to and the kid looked like he was going to freak out if I didn't agree to go along with your stupid games of Cat-and-Hedgehog. Which I've done as far as I'm willing to, I might add.'

'By all means, feel free to leave,' I nod in the direction of the exit. 'The door's right there.'

For a moment, it seems as if this is exactly what he's going to do. He gets to his feet, offers me what seems to be a nod of departure and turns to walk away. However, he pauses the second he touches the handle, looking back over his shoulder. '...What's the catch?'

'Catch?'

'You know what I'm talking about,' Knuckles says irritably. 'It's the way all of you people work: there are conditions to everything. If I leave now, what happens?'

I jot down his use of the words "_you people_" in my notebook for later reference, and then I pause for a moment, thinking. I get the impression that he won't be satisfied with a simple "what catch? There's no catch" answer, and besides, that would probably be untruthful. 'Well I suppose that the president wouldn't appreciate you refusing point blank to answer any questions at all,' I say. 'He might see that as being more a cause for concern than anything you might've said or done.'

Knuckles pauses. I can imagine him thinking a quiet '_damn it_,' to himself. 'I'm not trying to cause trouble,' he says, removing his hand from the door. 'Believe me. I'll leave the troublemaking to that darned hedgehog.'

'You mean Sonic.'

'Of course I do, who else?'

'You don't seem to like him,' I say, although something in me already knows that this isn't entirely true.

Knuckles turns to face me but does not return to the chair. 'I never said that. I _said_ that he's a pain in the neck who never knows when to quit and has absolutely no idea of the insane amounts of wreckage he always leaves in his wake.'

I smile. 'But not in so many words?'

'Why use any more than will do?' Knuckles mutters, seeming to be talking to himself more than me. Then he sits back down on the couch and waits patiently for the next of my many questions.

* * *

We continue, and the session is interspersed with occasional, off-the-wall commentary and long silences. I usually only have these kinds of sittings with extremely busy workmen or people with post traumatic stress disorder.

Eventually, after no less than ten minutes of stolid silence, Knuckles finally comes up with something to say:

'Damn Sonic.'

'Excuse me.'

'I said "damn Sonic": for getting us mixed up in yet another one of his scrapes.' Knuckles leans back, observing me the way someone with a microscope might observe creatures multiplying in a pool of water (did I just semi-quote _War of the Worlds_ in an internal monologue? I did, didn't I? Damn it, I really need to get out more.) 'I've no doubt that the reason we're here is to do with him. What did he blow up this time? I figure he must've caused some serious damage if you thought it necessary to drag us all here and make us go through these cross-examinations. The people in the next building need to start _warming_ their instruments before using them, by the way'

'So, you've met the nice people in our medical department, huh?' I ask. 'Relax, Knuckles, the examinations are a standard for all of our subjects. Not to mention all of the employees on their first day. It's nothing to be concerned about.' Unless you're concealing weapons on, in or around your person or aren't wearing matching socks, that is.

He raises an eyebrow at me. 'Nothing to be concerned about? I was _probed_!'

I try not to laugh, I really do, but... it's honestly funny. Everyone who works here or is otherwise referred undergoes a medical test, of course: its government policy, but I can see where he got the idea of probing. It also somewhat explains his current disposition. 'You were _examined_. It's irritating, sure, but it's also reasonably harmless. This isn't an alien testing facility...' Though I suppose they _count_ as "aliens", if you're going by the official definition. 'Why do you think that this has something to do with Sonic?'

'Because it _always_ has something to do with Sonic,' Knuckles says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'He's not a bad person but be damned if he ever _thinks_ about things before he rushes into them. I'm pretty sure he blew up a government facility trying to keep Eggman away, or something. Whatever it is it obviously bothered you enough that you decided calling at the Thorndyke's place before sunrise and sticking everyone in black cars which brought us here to be probed and analysed with the threat of imprisonment if we didn't do exactly what we were told, was a good idea.'

My pen pauses, nib barely touching the notepad. 'You were threatened with imprisonment?'

'In those _exact_ words? No. But I know a threat when I hear one, no matter how many niceties a person dresses it up with.'

I shiver slightly. I know that our government does whatever it has to do to ensure the safety of its citizens. I also know that just yesterday, the president's office was abuzz with talk of Sonic –or at least, someone associated with him– wrecking an energy plant during a battle over the coast. Still, that doesn't make me feel any better about the means employed to bring them here. I don't even want to imagine poor Cream being pulled out of bed in the dark and brought here half asleep, to be studied and looked over by our greatest medical minds.

...But I also know that they probably got a _phone call_ in advance, right?

I mention this, and Knuckles merely shrugs. 'How should I know? It's not like I usually live there.'

'You don't?' I frown to myself. I was under the impression that all of them resided at the Thorndyke's residence on the edge of town.

'No. Just happened to be there at the right moment –or the _wrong_ one. I didn't know anything about this until I saw a black car parked in Chris's driveway. I go down to ask questions and the next thing I know,' he says, bitterly. 'I'm being bundled into the thing and taken off to be stabbed at with pointed implements and asked to say stupid things with a piece of wood stuck in my mouth.'

I shrug slightly. 'Once again, I'm afraid I can't say anything for governmental procedure, Knuckles. I've gone through most of them myself.'

'Do you _usually_ pull people out of bed in the middle of the night?

'Well... yes, sometimes.' I can't lie about that. Sometimes it happens to employees too. I know my own government. It's a rabbit warren of different sectors and segments which don't always communicate with each other as often as they should (the concept of a Company Memo goes clear over people's heads so they're in bed or out shopping or doing their hair when the Big Black Car comes calling) hear the president once bitterly described himself as "the most powerful paper pusher in the world". 'Sometimes we take... drastic action. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.'

'Yeah, well... Get the guy with the wooden stick to say that to my face,' he seems reluctant to accept my apology, but also drawn to do so out of politeness. I get the feeling he isn't half the... Knucklehead they think he is. 'And you believed all this is necessary?'

'If they took the actions they did, then they must have,' I say. Knuckles isn't convinced.

'_Sure_ they did. It's like I was saying the other day,' he says, dryly. 'One minute you love us because we're unique, and the next? We're being persecuted because we're different.'

'Nobody is being persecuted,' I respond, and I try my hardest to believe what I'm saying.

I _have to_ believe it. And yet somewhere inside of me lies the same niggling doubt that first reared its ugly head during the sunballs incident a few weeks ago (don't ask about the sunballs incident. It would take forever to explain.) The feeling that something about this isn't _right_. The feeling that my own government is messing with things they don't necessarily understand. With _people_ they don't understand.

Knuckles reacts badly to my comment. 'Yeah, sure. Tell that to the kid we left back at the manor with a look on his face like he was never going to see us again.' He mutters. 'And to the girl I saw sitting terrified in the room next door before you brought her in here.' He snorts. Maybe he's drawing out the hostility he feels towards a hundred other people and shoving it in my direction, because there's nothing else that he can do. 'All the things you people do... And you're wondering whether _we're_ safe to be around?

'I can't speak for my fellow man.'

'But you expect me to let you speak for us? I'm not entirely happy about that, Miss. Eggman could be out there wreaking havoc even as we speak, and I don't see you asking him to sit down for an evaluation.'

Now wouldn't _that_ be something? I wonder if Knuckles finds the idea of that maniac sitting in this room talking about his childhood (he was probably a misunderstood wunderkind, or something) as insane as I do. However, given the people I've had the good fortune to talk to this week, maybe it's not entirely beyond the scope of believability.

'Believe me, I would if I could. But somehow I don't think he'll be as agreeable as you guys have been. We really do realize that you took a risk in coming here. Plus it's not exactly easy to confront your own personality in this way.'

There's a saying: _Flattery will get you everywhere_. Yes, yes, I know it's not exactly a scientific method but... I've never been the kind of psychologist who plays it entirely by the book. No psychiatric specialist with any experience under their belt ever is. Sometimes I use my initiative and intuition to find out what I need to know, and right now my intuition is telling me that this guy responds better (or at least, more constructively) to respect than he does to brusqueness.

My intuition is right on the mark today.

'What is there in my own personality to confront?' he asks. Without my noticing, he has taken several steps in my direction and is now gazing at me from right besides my chair. His expression has changed from irritated to... Well, alright, so he still looks rather irritated, but he seems _interested_, too. 'More to the point, why did _you_ agree to do this anyway?'

'I was instructed by my employer.' Who happens to be the president of the United States, I think, but don't see any need to mention.

'You couldn't have refused?' Knuckles says.

'Who in their right mind _would_?' I ask. 'The chance to communicate on a one to one level with creatures from another world? Understand, Knuckles: we humans are nothing much like you. We knew very little about life in other galaxies before your arrival, and we know little more about it now. I want to understand you just as much as everyone else does.'

Knuckles nods slowly. 'I see. So in other words my friends and I are interesting test subjects to you? Beings to be studied under microscopes and in psychological charts?'

His words remind me of Amy's –whose drawings which are still stuck in the drawer of my desk. I'm considering photocopying them before they're stored away. I like them. Just as I liked talking to her, and to Tails, and Cream before him. Tails trying to explain to me the finer points of Chaos Control, Cream talking about her mother, Sonic eating chilli dogs on my couch...

'No,' I say eventually. 'You're more to me than simply that, Knuckles.'

Knuckles remains gazing at me for a few more moments. And then he chooses to sit down again on the couch. 'Alright,' he says. 'Continue.'

* * *

It doesn't take long to work out how he responds to the usual questions: with silence. Asking about his home life? Forget it. I'm pretty sure that's not something he's going to talk about yet. It's a question of waiting, and judging him based on what few responses I can gain.

In other words, I've been reduced to using the Ink Bolts Test again.

'That one's a rabbit with one ear.'

I give him a look at that, but he offers no visible response. He simply continues to sit there with his arms folded, eyes fixed intently on the cards. _Flip. _

'...A camel.'

I pause. I'm used to subjects visualising unusual things within the blots, but this one seems a little bit of a stretch. The image before us seems to in no way resemble a camel from any angle, position or artistic style, to me.

Nonetheless, I turn to the next card without mentioning it. 'An island in the sea.'

That one sounds a little more relevant. Or at least, it sounds less as if he's lying altogether. Years of training has taught me to understand lying; mostly in a contextual sense. It's easier to work out whether someone is telling you the truth based on an appraisal of a whole situation. For example, if I'm studying a man who's being pulled up in court fox tax evasion, then he's far more likely to lie about little things, like taking extra candy from vending machines, or messing with a Parking Meter. Every little thing he says reflects upon his larger personality. Or at least that's what they usually believe.

So far, Knuckles has said very little, but what he has said leads me to believe that he isn't the type to see camels and one-eared rabbits in the ink blot cards.

I lay the cards down flat on my lap. 'Should we start again?'

'I don't see why.'

'You know why, Knuckles,' I say calmly.

'I thought you said that the cards could be anything I wanted them to be.'

'Of course. But did you _really_ see a camel, a chimpanzee, a spider and a rabbit with one ear, or were you merely saying what you thought I wanted to hear?'

Knuckles shrugs, folding his hands behind his head. The movement seems somewhat forced. 'I guess I've mentioned a lot of animals.'

_Yes_, I think. And I know exactly _why_ he's doing so. 'Do you believe this is what humans consider your kind to—?'

'I don't think we're going to get anywhere if you start trying to influence my answers, miss.' He interrupts my sentence before I can complete it.

Still hiding things. Still on the defensive. Truthfully, I can't blame him –this situation is all about us humans finding ways to judge them, after all– but there's a difference between logical defensiveness and deliberate awkwardness. 'I'm not trying to influence you. Sure I make mistakes but I _am_ quite well trained when it comes to noticing these differences.'

'Then you can tell me what this one all about anyway,' he says. 'I don't see what it'll possibly say to you about me or anyone else, for that matter.'

'Well for a start it's a sign that I'm getting desperate,' I smile. 'To be honest I try to get to the bottom of things without using these kinds of methods. The fact that you're refusing to answer most of the questions I have to ask you means I was kind of stumped for options from the beginning. Just look at the cards and tell me what you see, Knuckles. Not what you think I want to hear.'

Yet another long pause hangs between us before he comes up with an answer. 'Seems to me that telling you what you want to hear might be the fastest way out of here.'

'That depends,' I say, evenly. 'What _do_ you think I want to hear?'

'I'm not entirely sure,' he admits, calmly. 'How would you know I'm not telling you the truth?'

I wouldn't. But he doesn't have to know that. I'm making a risky assumption here, I know, but it isn't one I haven't made before and I'm fairly sure it's accurate. Right now, I get the definite impression of someone who's holding back a lot.

'Call it intuition' I say. Then I pick the cards up again and turn to the next.

'...Alright,' he says. 'Two Chaos Emeralds, held in open hands.'

_Flip_.

'A robot, heading towards a large city.'

_Flip_.

'A Chao. Like the creature which follows Cream around,' he adds in explanation. I nod as I turn to the next card.

'Yes I know it. And this one?'

'That one's Amy hitting someone over the head,' he says, folding his arms. 'Probably Eggman... Definitely Eggman, in fact.'

I don't tell him that Sonic said exactly the same thing. Just turn the card.

'That one's just blots,' he says after trying and failing to come up with a better response. 'But one of them is alone, separated from all the others.'

This time, his answer is a little more believable. I place the cards down carefully, glimpsing at the most recent one as I do.

'What about you? Are you anything like the inkblot?'

'I suppose I am,' he says. And once again he seems to be speaking more to himself than to me. His eyes remain fixed on the paper for a moment. 'I'm not exactly one for socialising at the best of times.'

* * *

Knuckles offers me another piece of interesting information four and a half minutes later, and I chew over it for a long time before responding to it: apparently he is the last of his species.

'And your parents?'

'Aren't important.' he says bluntly. 'I was the only child who hatched and the duty fell upon me. I've never laid eyes on another Echidna since.'

'Does that bother you?'

One eyebrow raises in a way which would probably be amusing, were it not for the nature of the question. 'My entire species is hanging on the brink of extinction, along with the continuation of the Guardians themselves. And you're asking me if that _bothers_ me.'

I nod. 'Yeah... I can see how that would seem like a stupid question. Sorry, Knuckles.'

'I _am_ the last,' he adds. 'At least I think so. Not that I was ever familiar with others of my species, but it would be... helpful to know I'm not the only one remaining. Who knows what'll happen to the Master Emerald without a guardian to protect it.'

'The Master Emerald?'

'It's a long story.' He says. 'Thousands of years long in fact.'

'Is there a digest version?'

He thinks about it. 'You know about Chaos Emeralds.'

'I've read of them in my reports.' Powerful sources of energy each with the potential of a moderately sized nuclear power plant (minus harmful radiation) contained in an object the size of a can of soda. They interfere with radio signals and all other kinds of power sources, too.

'Think of it like that,' he says, 'except multiplied by about a million. I had to pick up all the shattered pieces when I first got here. Was an absolute pain in the ass trying to find them all, but to leave it in pieces would've been catastrophic for both our worlds. '

Ooh boy. 'It sounds... dangerous.'

Knuckles stares at me seriously. 'It _is_ dangerous. It needs control. Its power is all but limitless.'

'And your people... they were its protectors? It's... "Guardian's" as you call them?'

Knuckles' right fist (it's impossible to think of his hands as anything other than fists. They don't even seem to ever unclench, though maybe that's just the appearance of the gloves confusing me) drifts 

to a white mark in the centre of his chest: a half moon of white fur amidst orange-red. 'This is proof of it. It's been possessed by every member of my family for centuries. It's the sign of our duty.'

Genetic Birthmarks. They're believed to exist amongst humans, too. I can't think of any which have hung around for thousands of years, though.

Listening to him talk, I realise that he sounds kind of like an historian who used to teach Summer School when I was fourteen and who spent years in trenches and archaeological digs solving the mysteries of the past. He used to joke that he spent most of his life in dark caves; away from civilisation (he was certainly eccentric enough). So enthralled by his subject, and yet utterly tired out by it, too.

I decide to risk being a little more direct. 'Can you tell me about them? Your ancestors?'

He looks at me for so long that I have to wonder what he's searching for. It's like being on one of those medical tables that he spoke of earlier. I try not to look impatient or unnerved by his scrutiny. This must be how they felt when they were asked to come here.

Eventually he appears to relax a little: as if he's finally decided what he thinks of me, and it isn't anything which will involve me getting into trouble.

What he says next confuses me more than anything I've heard so far.

'Alright. If you really want to know. There was... a girl, a long time ago. An Echidna like me. Her name was Tikal. I suppose that pretty much everything began with her.'

* * *

I am listening to a story.

Or at least, it _feels_ very much like a story. Maybe the weirdest, most incredible story I've ever heard in my life. I'm not sure if its science fiction or fantasy, real life, psychological or even allegorical, but whatever it is, it's probably got a few B-Movie _and_ a few Major Psychological Blockbuster Directors turning in their graves.

And the most peculiar thing about it all is that I'm not pouring over my usual novel on the way to work, or watching some late-night movie. I'm just sitting in my office, listening to an echidna from another planet describing how his ancestors damn near destroyed themselves.

...Oh yes. I am de_fin_itely going to need therapy.

I'm not sure where this all began, or what set him off. Once he started talking about the girl named "Tikal", once he stopped worrying so much about me being another cornerstone of a rather dubious government, the atmosphere seemed to change. It's hard to believe, but then, most of what I've heard in here over the last few hours has been, and I've managed.

'Of course, the problem really began when Chaos emerged. Angry, as you can probably guess. And Tikal went to him and was taken into the Emerald herself. We got drawn out of the memory about then. We couldn't see her anymore. Though she came to us in the city, the day that Chaos came.'

'The day of the flood?'

'That's the one.'

It's an amazing story he's telling, sure; but it's still a controlled one. He thinks very hard about every sentence before he speaks it. He's started circumnavigating words such as "father" and "family" and "blood", and he keeps one fist clenched over the birthmark on his chest the whole time, as if to keep himself talking.

I want to ask more questions. To ask more about the girl Tikal, and her father and the Chao she protected. I want to ask about the people who wrote this story on the walls of the caves back in his home world, and who kept the legend alive for so long... But something tells me that pressing the subject further would only cause him to bottle it all up again and stop talking completely. It took me long enough to get this information as it is.

'...Knuckles?'

He grunts slightly, as if realising he's embarrassed by the story he just blurted out. With how much I know now and how many things he's let slip which he promised himself I'd never hear. 'Yes?'

'Let me propose a hypothetical situation,' I say. 'What would you do, if you didn't have the Master Emerald to protect?'

'...There's always been the Master Emerald,' he responds. This doesn't really answer my question, but it _does_ tell me something (or rather, reinforce something which I already knew).

'Maybe so, but I'm being purely hypothetical here. If it didn't exist, Knuckles; if the Master Emerald wasn't in the least bit important in anyway; if you didn't have that mark on your chest proclaiming you as it's guardian. What would you do?'

'A Treasure Hunter,' he says, and... I think I catch a note of pride in his tone when he says it. 'Well... Rocks. Old relics. They're something I understand. It's what I was in the old days.'

'Why no longer?' I ask, though yet again, I already know the answer.

'I remembered where my real duties lay,' Knuckles says, firmly. 'That's the burden of the Guardian of the Master Emerald, Ella. And I'm the only one left.'

He refuses to say anything else on the subject thereafter.

* * *

When I say that it's time to leave, his response is just as I predicted it would be. 'About time.' He says while getting down from the seat and keeping his arms folded.

There's a word in the dictionary which describes this person perfectly, at least where Sonic the Hedgehog is concerned: _Antithesis_. Knuckles is the veritable antithesis of Sonic the Hedgehog. I've never met two people so different from each other, and yet who share such a fundamental goal. I imagine that fundamental goal is the one thing that has kept those two from driving each other stark raving crazy in the time they've been on this world. Sonic breezes through life, letting memory and complication drift away from him as easily as the hotdog wrapper lying in his wake as he left my 

office earlier, while Knuckles clings to his past and the past of his ancestors, because in the end it's all he has.

'Say hello to Cream for me?' I ask, hopefully as Knuckles approaches the door.

'Sure,' he shrugs. 'But you could always tell her yourself. Kid's still sitting out here. Said she'd wait for me so I didn't get _lonely_.'

I smile. Yeah. That sounds like something Cream would do (and like something Knuckles would be). 'What about the others? Sonic?'

'Heh. Chaos only knows where Sonic is right now,' Knuckles shrugs and I realise, looking at him right now that in spite of everything I just heard; in spite of the fact that I just had the history of an entire, all-but-extinct culture dumped upon my lap, and despite the fact that I have just began to realise the potential of a power source humankind could only dream of in science fiction, the last hour might as well have never happened to him, for all the change in Knuckles' expression.

'Miss Crowley.'

I look up from my notes, realising he's still there. 'Just so you know,' Knuckles says, bluntly. 'We're not your enemies here. Most people in this world seem to realise that. We don't want to be treated as them.'

'I know that.' I answer softly, and I find that I truly mean it.

I feel a little deflated as the door clicks shut in Knuckles wake. I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to write my final report for this one.

* * *

_Final Report Concerning Subject W._

_Psychologist on Duty: Eloise S. Crowley. _

_Subject W seems prone to internalizing his personal doubts and uncertainties. His main type hovers at types both A and C, fluxing back and forth between highly contained solemnity and incredible emotional outburst. _

_While seeming blunt and insensitive on the surface, Subject has also shown himself to be innately good natured to the point of being gullible. This is perhaps a due to a genuine desire to see good within even the most unlikely people. Appears to be somewhat inexperienced concerning interaction with others, which may have contributed to his naiveté. Describes himself as a "loner" with no living relatives, Subject has also gone so far as to state that he is in fact, the last remaining member of his species. Subject otherwise avoided answering many questions relating directly to his childhood._

_After some time however, Subject W also revealed that he was a kind of "Guardian" for a powerful source of energy known as "__**The Master Emerald**__". This is apparently a task which has been handed down his family line for several centuries. I am uncertain as to whether this is merely a familial allegory, or if the concepts of Eternal Guardianship and the true power of the Master Emerald contains some truth. I would be tempted to believe that the subject is not, in fact, labouring under _

_some psychological illusion. If he is, then it is a highly complex one which would require a great deal of further study. _

_Subject sees deeply embedded in the personal culture and history of a species which is now, apparently, almost non-existent. He believes himself to be the final signifier and keeper of his kind's memory. This is not an uncommon reaction amongst sole survivors of extreme environmental disasters or public accidents and is not attributable to Survivor's Guilt, but is an entirely distinct phenomenon. _

_Basically, the true question here stems from exactly how well adjusted any person can be when their entire life has been defined by a single unwavering familial duty and a dedication to a single cause. subject has indirectly expressed a sense of regret about the duty which has enveloped his entire life, yet still remains firmly sure of his familial duty. _

_Subject is not particularly uncaring or ignorant of humans per se; on the contrary he has expressed a surprising level of acceptance towards our own species, in spite of ours. But he does appear unable to respect any forms of governmental authority, referring to them as "you people". It is likely that he is unfamiliar with the democratic process as these things are unlikely to impact on a person who has lived entirely alone for most of their life. Nonetheless he appears to be surprisingly perceptive of humanities many faults_

_Subject because angry when addressing the issues of their treatment upon arrival in this world._

_**Important Notice**__: it is possible that exposure to the "__**Master**__**Emerald**__" as the subject calls it, may produce some psychological, mental or physical effect, similar to that (see the Governmental Files on Inter-Dimensional Phenomenon: Restricted Access Section) it is possible that the Emerald itself possesses some form of post-natural influence. It is suggested that few select individuals from the dimension currently referred to as "_Galaxy X_" are capable of utilising not only the potential of the Seven Chaos Emeralds, but of the Master Emerald itself. Subject W is apparently one of these individuals, and as such has access to what may be an incredible source of power. He also possesses great physical strength and a temperament that makes him prone to _using_ these abilities. _

_**Potential Threat**__: Moderate to High _

_**Suggested Action**__: Continued sessions with this psychologist to determine the state of his mentality, as well as the full veracity of his descriptions of such elements as the Master Emerald and the history of the Guardians. Continued physical study as is further attempts at understanding the abilities and power sources he speaks of. Great caution is suggested. Antagonising Subject would be unwise. _

* * *


	6. Coffee Break

**I think it's time that my doctor here got to take a break. Unfortunately for her, there is no such thing as rest for a government psychologist. Standard disclaimers apply. Reviews and concrit are appreciated.**

**

* * *

**

Coffee Break.

A girl can only spend so long sitting in front of a couch without needing to taste fresh air.

I usually make it a rule not to leave my office during work hours. There's a chance I might run into my patients somewhere on the grounds of the Facility. It isn't that they're usually unhappy to see me, but... it still sometimes bothers them to see me walking around.

It's similar to the effect experienced when you're a small child and you first encounter your teacher in the supermarket, or the park, or somewhere else outside of the classroom. It shocks you. You never imagined that they had lives beyond that place where they taught the ABCs and times tables, so seeing them in real life on the weekend can be confusing. So imagine seeing your _psychiatrist_ in public. After everything you told them on the couch. That's not just confusing; it can also be disconcerting.

Just like the classroom: the psychiatrist's office is a different world to the one most people inhabit. I always try my hardest not to mix them up, for my own sake as much as my patients.

Today is different however. After all, I've spent the last five hours communicating with an assortment of anthropomorphic species' from another galaxy; talking about chilli dogs and Chaos Emeralds and insane geniuses on the loose in Station Square. I think I need a taste of the real –_Real_? No, merely _human_– world that exists outside of my office right about now, just to reassure myself that it's still there.

So at about three thirty I leave a message with my secretary and head down to the canteen. My next subject (and it's starting to feel really strange, calling them that) isn't due for another half an hour. I have the time to spare. Enough to grab a coffee and a breather before sitting down to yet another discussion about things I barely understand and tales from worlds that a year ago I didn't know existed.

The people in the canteen are surprised to see me. Not least of all Terry, who has served me at exactly seven thirty a.m., and again at five p.m. on the dot, every day for the last eight years. She claims she can set her watch by me. It's surprisingly crowded, too, given the time of day. At least half of the seats in a room designed to hold fifty people are taken up by agents in uniforms and lab workers in their heavy white coats and some visiting diplomats from tiny countries I've probably never heard of.

'Well, look who's here for a top up,' Terry smiles. 'You're not usually down here until _five_, Elly. Tough morning?'

'No...' I answer, sighing. Strange how someone can feel so out of place just for breaking their usual routine. 'More like a bizarre one.'

Terry nods in understanding, and then she glimpses around conspiringly and leans across the counter until she's practically in my face. 'So it's true then, right? She asks, quietly. 'You've had our resident celebrity in there.'

I let my fingers tighten on my tray. Good grief. '...Seems like everyone knew about this, huh?'

'How could anyone _not_ know, honey?' Terry laughs, pushing her too-big spectacles a little further up her nose. 'Nothing stays quiet in this place for long, ironic as that is. The staff rooms have been rattling with nothing else today. Lucky for them we all signed those little pieces of paper promising we'd keep our mouths shut, huh? On pain of death an' all that.'

Terry smiles mischievously. She's a little older than me, somewhere in her early forties, and it feels... strange to see her acting so surreptitiously, like a curious school girl. I guess Sonic has that effect on people. Having now met him face to face, I can see why.

This still holds as the most ordinary conversation I've experienced all day, however. Maybe she does nothing more important than serve cappuccino, but Terry is still a constant for me. She's been here every day since I started working at the facility: a casual and smiling African woman who still holds an accent even though she hasn't lived there since she was twelve and has dealt with my caffeine-deprived early morning state and my adrenaline hyped up evening self for almost a decade now. And she always does so with a smile on her face. I honestly can't imagine this place without her.

'Well I didn't see anyone reacting this way when I interviewed Sam Speed,' I mutter. 'Or the president himself.'

'True, but they aren't _Sonic_,' Terry says. 'Our kids aren't all that interested in anything that isn't short, blue and superfast these days, and I was bugged over and over this morning by my son to get his autograph if he showed.'

'Well you're a little late I'm afraid; he left a few hours ago.'

'Yeah, I know, I saw the speed blur and the trail of flying papers through the corridors,' Terry chuckles. 'Too bad. You want coffee?'

'Latte, please. I don't suppose there's any way you can increase the natural caffeine content?'

'Not without risking my neck with Health and Safety, honey.'

'Oh. Well then, I'll make do.'

'Sure. Just give me time to heat the milk. These machines are on the blink today.'

I nod at that, privately wondering whether _certain_ people might have been messing around with the electronics in the building while waiting for their interview but... No. Tails probably wouldn't do that if he thought his clever brain had already gotten him into trouble, not even out of sheer curiosity. He's a fox, not a cat.

I'm still waiting for my coffee when voices emerge from the corridor, one of them seeming somewhat... louder than most of the casual conversation happening around me. I can feel the faces of others turn in the direction of the door, and it's only my own training which prevents me from doing the same. (Yes, the people here train us to control our facial expressions. They are _that_ good.)

'...Frankly ridiculous, all of it. I mean, a girl like _me_ in a place like this?'

'Oh shush, people are staring. And don't be so darn stubborn, you know it's for the best.'

I glimpse to the left. Just slightly –enough to see the open entrance of the cafeteria out of the corner of one eye. '_I'm_ stubborn? I hardly think you're anyone to be talking about _that_, Topaz. Anyhow, psychological evaluation? Why don't they just up and send me to a Nut House right now? I'll just break out again anyway, so why waste time on paperwork?'

...Oh.

_Oh_. So that's who she is.

Well this is certainly... awkward. Just the problem that I was talking about earlier. Somewhat less so given that we haven't met each other yet, though. Anyhow, she doesn't know I'm here right now. I'm nothing more than another face in a crowd of suits and uniforms and cappuccino froth.

I plan to keep it that way, at least until our eventual meeting. I tap my hands impatiently against my tray and wish that Terry would hurry up with that latte. All the while, I can still hear them talking. I want to keep looking because be damned if that isn't a _talking bat_ sitting there and having a conversation with a Ministry of Defence Officer, but politeness and conspicuousness bids me to look away. I make do with simply listening. That's what I'm good at, after all.

'Hm. You know, the depressing thing is, that actually makes some sense.'

'Glad you think so. And for _who's _best, anyhow?' The bat adds. 'For those crazy goons in the government who wanna see me locked up in a four-by-six cell?'

'Oh, come on, Rouge, they don't want _that_... Not _all_ of them. The only one whose opinion really matters in the end is the president.'

'So, my fate is in the hands of some middle aged guy with a comb over and the most powerful ballpoint pen in the world at his disposal, huh? Not to mention some crackpot psychologist. Lucky for me I'm good at getting out of these things.'

I blink.

'You _know_ the deal Rouge.'

'Fine, _fine_, so I'm not going anywhere...I suppose the paper pusher has to be good for something other than signing all those bills, eh?' Rouge continues. There is the sound of scraping chair feet. 'Really, I love attention as much as the _next_ attractive girl, but don't you think a psych test might be going just a teeny bit too far? I'm not stealing anything _right now_ am I?'

'Ha!' The other voice laughs. Something tells me these two go well together in the same way that Oil and Vinegar do. 'Look, Rouge, I don't know how things work in the world you come from but here? The tag of "criminal" still stands when you aren't actually in the act of committing the crime.

'Oh really? So you and all those military goons at head quarters really do think I'm nothing more than a petty criminal. Topaz, I'm _hurt_.'

She speaks with the voice of a person who isn't really _hurt_ at all, but more... put out. As if she isn't sure she'd really care, but wants to know how much the words were meant anyway, just because.

'Oh, no you're not. And anyway, you know I think you're more than that,' the voice of the agent (whose name is Topaz and who, judging by her uniform, works in one of the higher up departments in the Ministry of Defence). 'I also think you're a proud, egotistical, jewellery obsessed narcissist who's using the government to further her own petty ends and keep her out of the jailhouse.'

...Well, that would certainly be an interesting thing to stick in my future subject's case notes. I risk the briefest of looks in their direction under the premise of checking my fringe, but my view of them is obscured by someone getting up from the table in front.

'Well that's simply _lovely_. Some friend you are.'

'Of course. Only a real friend would be that honest with you, right? You're always telling _me_ when I've gained weight. In spite of the fact that I never have.' The Agent –Topaz, I remind myself. And that's almost as unusual a name as Rouge: isn't it a type of gemstone? – says with a smile in her voice. 'Now, do you _want_ coffee or did we come down here just so _more_ people could hear you complaining about Governmental Procedure?'

'Urgh. Fine, you know what I like.'

Other people are looking at them, of course, with shifty eyes and uneasy gazes, but the officer simply looks right through them. As if it's perfectly normal for her to purchase coffee for flying mammals. Listening to them talk, I suppose it probably is. She's muttering something about old ladies and getting a portable sonar as she comes to stand right beside me...

'Hey, Terry, can I get two lattes, please? One with cream and one without. Heavy on the sugar.'

'Breaking that Rigorous Health Regime of yours, Topaz?' The cafeteria lady smiles at her. I get the feeling that the girls who work here must know just about everyone in the entire facility from the Janitor to the President (well, maybe not the President. Heck, even I don't get to see him on a regular basis. When he called me to his office the other day to discuss the beginning of my new studies, it was only the third time I'd met him face to face)). This Facility (I'm not allowed to tell you the exact location, but it's somewhere in between Station Square and the Capital) is visited and staffed mainly by operatives from governmental administration who, when they aren't here, are busy over in the Whitehouse, or are hanging about in Area 99, or something. Most people come through here for evaluation on their way to and from the Whitehouse itself.

Amazing to think that a woman who serves coffee is probably one of the best-connected individuals in the world. Everyone needs a coffee break now and then. Even the President.

'Heck, no, this one's for Miss Bat over there. They've got her in for ah...' Topaz coughs and leans towards Terry conspiringly, just as Terry had leant towards me a few minutes before. What she says next confirms my previous suspicions. '...Psych test with the resident psychologist.'

Terry continues to smile and tactfully avoids my gaze. 'Ah. That so? Just like those other other-worlders that they've had zipping around here today, then?'

'Yeah, I suppose. They've already been and gone, huh?' Topaz says. 'Probably just as well. You have no idea how hairy things can get when some of them are in close contact with each other for extended periods of time. Or for _brief_ periods of time, for that matter. Particularly Rouge and Knuckles.'

'They don't get along?'

'It's a strange combination of hate and like I think...' Topaz shrugs. 'Or hate and _something_. Either way, sparks tend to fly. Literally.'

I continue gazing politely at the disobedient latte machine (Terry is utilising her usual method of fixing things when they stall: pressing the buttons randomly, trying to get it to do something other than squirt out blobs of cream and rattle). Maybe Terry doesn't know, but I have a fairly _good_ idea of exactly what could happen whenever those two were in the same room together. The stark bluntness of "Rouge's" personality (what I've encountered of it thus far) probably grates against Knuckles like a nail file.

Topaz sighs, stretching her arms over her head with the manner of a woman who's been surviving on a diet consisting solely of coffee and witty banter for several days. 'I guess you can't really expect a bat and an echidna to get along too well. Talk about being from different worlds.'

'Hm. But you and her are from different words _literally_,' Terry says exactly what I was thinking.

'True enough. And you can damn well _see_ how much we clash.'

'Hm.' Terry smiles knowingly. Sometimes I wonder if she's ever considered taking my job. People always seem more willing to talk to her than to someone who's qualified, for some reason. 'So that's what he is then, eh? An Echidna... who'd have figured it?' She shrugs and gives the Latte machine another whack. 'Sorry Topaz, you'll have to join the queue. Damn thing just won't give up today.'

'It's okay, we can wait. She's not due there for half an hour anyway. I can't work out whether I came along to keep her company or stop her from making a break for freedom.'

Terry chuckles. 'I'd say it's a little of column A, a little of column B...'

Topaz laughs. She still doesn't look at me. I glimpse at her though: at this lady, talking so casually about a being from another world that they might as well be old college friends –who annoy the living hell out of each other but wouldn't let each other go. _Like Oil and Vinegar, _I think again.

And then she leans across my path to reach the sugar packets. She looks at me then, and I have to meet her eye for just a second.

'Sorry, do you mind?' she says, and... Darn. My old social inadequacies are rearing their ugly head again. It takes me a couple of moments to realise I'm being spoken too, and couple more to come up with a response.

'Oh. Um... Of course. Sure. No problem.'

'Thanks. Like there's not already enough of this stuff in the cups that Terry turns out.' She looks at Terry sneakily. 'I swear she messes with the stuff.'

Terry hisses melodramatic. 'Darn it, busted.'

I try to join in on the joke, but my attempt at laughter kind of dies in my throat. It's strange, but this tends to happen to me with unfamiliar people outside of the office... It's different with my patients and my subjects. Different when I know that they're likely more nervous in my company than I am in theirs. I can sit quite calmly opposite a hardened criminal and listen to his or her life story, but the second I'm in social company all my many qualifications don't seem to matter a jot. 'Think your bat friend there has noticed that I'm cutting down on her chocolate intake?'

'I have no idea,' Topaz says. 'I don't think they even _have_ chocolate where they come from.'

'Perish the thought,' Terry shakes her head in mock disbelief.

'Perish _her_, when she eventually gets back to wherever they come from and can't find a decent cappuccino,' Topaz smiles. It takes me a second to realise she's smiling at me as well as Terry.

Nerves aside, I still decide to try and take the opportunity to pry into my next subject. 'So, um... That uniform... You're from defence?'

'Yeah, basically. Though we work in a few different fields. It's one of the _No Pen and Paper Required_ areas,' she says. I nod, understanding what that means."No Pen and Paper Required" is a term we use in the facility for the undercover operatives.

'Secret Agents, then?'

Topaz laughs. 'Listen to that,' she says, amusedly. 'I thought the Secret Agent thing was supposed to be... you know, _secret_?'

How does that old saying go? "Two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead?" And yet this entire building is a kind of collective enigma, spread amongst roughly two hundred people in various governmental bodies, who all know a little bit about something and nothing about the greater whole. Everyone who comes through signs official secrets acts and contracts which could get them sued from here to eternity if they so much as _think_ of breaking them. I try not to dwell on it too much. If I stop and think about it for too long, then my head usually begins to whirl.

I'm just a psychiatrist. I work here. That's all I need to know, really.

Terry finally succeeds in claiming a latte from that darned machine. 'Hey girl, around these parts the coffee servers are made to sign the official secrets act, I don't think you've gotta be too concerned about the Undercover thing. Besides your partner there seems pretty hard to overlook.'

'Isn't she just?' Topaz says, dryly. 'And if she wasn't, then I'm sure she'd find a way to make herself noticeable. Rouge is just like that, though. She stands out in a crowd, but just you try and find her in an abandoned warehouse during a bust when she shuts up.'

I consider pushing my limited social prowess a little further and asking another question but before I have a chance, the sound of a not-human individual calls across the tables. 'Are you done holding conversations with that psychology buff over there, Topaz? She's already got me for a whole hour in a little while; I don't need you spilling her anymore of my life story beforehand.'

I bristle. Quite literally, in fact. I can feel the hair prickling on the back of my head, like an alarmed hedgehog. _How of earth did she...?_

Topaz looks at me curiously as Terry (finally) hands over two coffees. 'Wait, you're the professor?' she asks, not seeming to wonder in the least exactly how Rouge _knew_ about that: not the way I'm wondering anyway. I suppose she's just more used to Rouge's nature than I am.

I bite my lip and manage a smile, though I still feel somewhat alarmed. 'Um... guilty?'

'Heh. I'll be damned, guess that's introductions taken are of in advance,' Topaz doesn't seem concerned. Then she turns around and calls rather bluntly across the tables. 'Hey, we're trying to have a civil conversation here, Rouge. How did you _know_ that anyway?'

'All ears, Topaz. I'm a _Bat_. And your new psychologist friend seems to have pretty big ears herself. Watch you don't let slip anything about my scattered criminal record now, sweetie.'

Topaz gives Terry a wink as she takes the coffee in both hands. 'Of course. How could I forget? Seeya later, Ter.' Then she looks at me (still waiting for that latte... I think Terry took pity on me by getting rid of her first) and nods. 'Um... guess miss bat'll see you in fifteen minutes,' she says to me, and then she's gone with her coffee. I can feel my face flushing as I turn away from the tables. I'll be honest: I am entirely too creeped out. It's not that my details are kept under lock and key, but... heck, ninety percent of my patients don't even know my _gender_ before they come into the office for the first time (for some reason, people always assume that Doctor of Psychology E. S. Crowley is some middle aged man with a beard and moustache and a Belgian accent... )

'You've never met Agent Topaz before, huh?' Terry says to me. It's not a question.

'Well, I don't... get out of my office a lot. You know that, Ter.'

'No, I noticed. You know, far be it from me to question a lady who has more credentials than I've got split ends, but you need to get _out_ more, Ella.' She smiles when she says this, so I know its okay. Terry knows me, just like she knows I've always been like this: just a little paranoid wherever other people are concerned. And yet Terry can talk to people as calmly and casually over a coffee machine as she can across an office desk. Makes you wonder how much qualifications really matter, in the end.

'Don't get me wrong,' I mutter uneasily. 'I knew that we had them _around_, of course. And I knew that one of my upcoming patients had been working for the government, on and off, but...'

'But you didn't expect them to be having coffee together in a top secret government facility?' Terry takes the words right out of my mouth.

...Never underestimate the woman who serves you coffee. She's often a lot more perceptive than you realise. 'Well... something like that.' I mutter, and then I pause, and ask: 'But... how did she know?'

'You got me, honey, Terry shrugs. Personally, I don't get what _any_ of those people are doing here in the first place, they seem normal enough to me, so far as talking animals go. I know they're tough little critters though. You think they might be able to cause as much trouble as people here believe?

I stay silent, despite the non-malicious nature of the question, because I'm really not sure how to respond to it. Terry finally retrieves a latte with a grin of triumph and then the both of us are silent.

The two Agents continue to banter and argue and complain, the same way I used to with that old history professor of mine. _Rouge the Bat_, I think to myself, listening to their loud muttering from the tables behind and trying to work out how the heck she knew who I was without my even turning round to greet her.

I thank her for the latte before taking it carefully in both hands and turning to retreat back to the safety of my office; a place where I know who I am and am in control of myself and my situation. I feel at least two pairs of eyes watching me firmly as I leave.

I think it was probably wise of me not to answer Terry's question just yet.

* * *

**Pardon this slight break in the psychological proceedings, but I really needed it. Normal service will resume next chapter. **


	7. Rouge

**

* * *

**

I have no doubt that this is going to be the most difficult of my chapters so far, mostly because of my inexperience with the character in question. It should also, however, prove to be one of the most interesting. Standard disclaimers apply. Reviews and concrit are appreciated.

* * *

Rouge.

There's a word to describe this person.

Not a word in any dictionary I've ever read, though. It's not quite "obnoxious" and it's not quite "suave", but it's probably somewhere in the middle of the two. Even her name suggests as much. I've already worked out that people where they come from are often very appropriately named (as if names like _Sonic_ and _Knuckles_ weren't a big enough clue). I returned to my office with my coffee after pausing to talk to a workmate in the corridor for ten minutes, to find her sitting on my desk examining a fountain pen.

'So tell me, miss. Do you decide on the words before we start, or are you just very clever when it comes to words?'Rouge asks after a moment of silence, during which we both gazed at the card in my hands.

She sits, perched primly in the edge of the couch, one leg folded across the other, and if I didn't know any better, I would _swear_ that she's batting her eyes at me. It's very distracting. Or maybe I'm just nervous. It's hard to focus on a patient as anonymous when you've already seen them drinking coffee and complaining in the cafeteria. Which in some ways is a good thing, I suppose.

'They're decided beforehand,' I tell her. It isn't a lie. They _are, _but a doctor isn't expressively forbidden from changing them as they see fit. I like to adjust my own cards a lot more regularly than is legally required. My patients tend to have good memories. 'But... different selections are used for every patient. You're the first to use this particular one today.'

'Just one of the many interesting quirks of the job, huh?' Rouge smiles. 'Honestly I'll never understand why you don't just come out and _ask_ the questions you want the answers to, rather than playing all these games with us.'

I already had a feeling that she was going to be one of _those_ subjects (i.e. the type who try to turn the entire session on its head by asking all the questions before I can). Still, it's a reasonable enough question. She hasn't ever had to try and wrangle important information out of murderers and conspirers, so she can't know that sometimes, mind games are the only way into them. The same applies to creatures from other worlds, who you can't be sure respond to things in the same way as your average human.

'Oh there's no need to look so worried, Doc. I happen to like games. Especially ones where the reward is tangible. And has a carat rating.'

I half smile behind the card and mutter 'I'll bet,' to myself. I know she hears me (How could she possible _miss it_ with ears like that?), but I mutter anyway. Aloud, I say a single word. 'Earth.'

'Dirt.' She responds immediately, brushing an imaginary speck of it off her gloves.

'Grass.'

'Field.'

'Sky.'

'Flight.'

'Space.'

'Moon... Well, half of it, what with that Eggman having blown a great darn chunk out of the thing.' She points out of the window and I notice for the first time that the evening light is dimming and the moon she speaks of is barely visible in the dimming sky –it creates a strange silhouette these days, never larger than half a circle. It'll be dark within an hour. 'Nah, I'm not a fan of winter either,' Rouge says, seeming to read the expression on my face. 'The cold is a pain. Still what better place for a bat like myself than the _dark_, don't you think, Miss Crowley?'

I can't think how to answer, so I simply continue the test. '...Star.'

'Asteria.' She says, quickly. 'That's a type of optical phenomenon in gemstones, in case you're wondering. Produces some very striking effects in otherwise simple stones.'

I blink, slightly surprised. '_That's_ the first word that came into your head?'

'Of course, never let it be said that I don't know my trade.'

I flip the corner of the notepad in my hand. I haven't written anything much since she came into the room, unlike Sonic, whom I managed to fill twelve pages on, and even Cream turned out six. All I've really been able to think of to write for Rouge so far is "Knows what she wants. Is determined not to leave this office without getting it."

'And... your "trade", Rouge. What do you mean by that?'

'Now, Miss Crowley, games can only go so far,' Rouge smiles at me. 'I know you heard mine and my associate's conversation down in the cafeteria.'

'You were serious?'

'About my _criminal record_, or whatever it is that you people call it? Of course, I don't deny it. Though we don't go by such things where I come from. Not that there aren't rules or anything but _criminal records_? Who would _write_ them?' she shakes her head. 'If you're not bright enough to hide your jewels, then you should probably have a record yourself for not showing due care and attention to the things most precious to you anyway. Which reminds me: you really should lock that top cabinet. There are important files in there.'

I feel the hair bristling on the back of my neck again, just the way it did in the cafeteria. Well this is... certainly new.

'...You've been going through my office.'

'Not "going through" it. I only _peeked_.'

'Why?' I ask.

The question throws her off guard ever so slightly. The smile fades. 'Force of habit, I suppose. It's not like I honestly expected to find anything precious in a _filing cabinet_. My tastes lie in different areas, anyway.'

I get the point she's trying to make. Okay, so I work for the government, but the pay it offers hardly affords the kind of glamour she seems accustomed too (she knows the different optical reactions of gemstones, for goodness sakes). But I also know that she probably wasn't looking for precious objects in the first place.

'Well, I don't appreciate patients going through my office drawers.'

'True enough.' She nods at me. It seems as close to an apology as I'm going to get.

Irritatingly, she also happens to be right: I really _should've_ locked that cabinet.

'You know that's something Topaz is always getting on my back about,' Rouge says after a moment, folding her hands behind her head, legs still crossed, and somehow managing to remain elegant all throughout this process (or as elegant as you can be when you're a talking bat in knee high boots.) 'Going through drawers, that is. If she doesn't want people in there she should honestly _lock_ them before hand, it's not my fault she's keeping me away from jewellery stores to the best of her ability.'

'I have a feeling that Miss Topaz has her reasons.' I say, politely.

'True. But she doesn't have to draw attention to it so often. You know the other day she tried to call me out in a public park? _Before_ I'd even stolen anything. Honestly, all I was doing was looking through the binoculars.'

'At?' I ask.

Rouge smiles again, broader this time, and more... amused. 'Jewellery store across the park. She should be thankful anyway, if it wasn't for my doing that we would never have spotted the Chaos Emerald we were looking for.'

There's that word again. My pen pauses on the paper (not that I had been writing much with it in the first place). 'Chaos Emerald?'

'Ah, yes. Those. _Beautiful_ little gems aren't they? Rouge says. 'You've got one of them holed up in some high security place right now. Awful waste of a good stone if you ask me. It would look much better on, say... someone's finger.'

I've never seen a Chaos Emerald myself, but judging from the images, I can tell they're roughly the size of baseballs. Pretty, but certainly not _jewellery_ material. 'They seem... a little big for that.'

'So? A little flashiness never hurt.'

Something tells me that wearing a Chaos Emerald on your finger probably wouldn't be the brightest thing to do; not if they're powerful enough to warrant being contained in a high-tech government vault, but Rouge doesn't seem to particularly care about that. 'You don't worry about... how they might react in public?'

'No. Should I?' Rouge shrugs casually. 'I dunno what those other guys and Eggman see in them, personally. Okay, they're powerful. Maybe one of the most powerful things in the galaxy. So what? Power isn't _everything_. What _I_ see is the flashiest necklace money _can't_ buy. Maybe even a matching pair of earrings.'

A matching pair of earrings. made from objects that, according to Knuckles (and to what I've seen on television) could wipe out half a damn planet if they fell into the wrong hands. '...I think a nice pair of diamonds would be a lot safer,' I mumble.

'Maybe, but not _nearly_ as fascinating. Now, Miss Crowley, are we running a psychological shrink test here, or discussing my taste in jewellery?'

'They happen to be connected,' I say, smiling, before continuing. 'Glass.'

'Cut.'

'Blade.'

'Steel.'

'Real.'

'Solid.'

'Fake.'

Rouge chuckles. 'Looks like we're back to jewels again, huh? Alright then. Zirconium. You don't get much more fake than that, barring glass cut beads.'

I pause before the next word. 'Friend.'

Rouge opens her mouth to speak, pauses, and then closes it again, though I have a feeling that the word on her lips was another type of gemstone, (though no doubt _not_ the one she finally speaks aloud). '...Diamonds.'

* * *

I'll say one thing for Rouge: she is remarkably creative with her Roschbach's Ink Blot responses.

'That one looks rather like Topaz, if you catch her before coffee on a Monday.'

'Wow, scary.'

'Just a little,' Rouge chuckles. 'Enough to give Eggman a run for his money. She claims I look no better, but I'm sure we both know she's fibbing there. I always was the more glamorous member of the team.

I say nothing to that. She's actually probably close to right. I simply do what I've done many times today and turn the card over.

'A diamante ring,' she says. And then... 'A butterfly. One of those large, pretty ones I caught a glimpse of across the continent.'

I don't mention that Amy said almost exactly the same thing about that card herself (somehow, i get the feeling Rouge gets along with Amy even less well than she does with Knuckles). 'You've been across the continent?'

'I'll say one thing about being a GUN agent: you see all the sights and sounds that this rather strange world has to offer. And the next?' She waits for me to turn the page before answering. '...Is a dress. One of those glitzy ones you see in movies.'

Funny. despite her exquisite taste in jewels, I never had her tagged at the dressy type, but looking at the deep pink smudge before me, I can see that it really _does _look rather like a dress, even to me. One of those dramatic princess ones that you see in kids movies. I change to the next card without commenting:

'Hedgehog,' Rouge says quickly.

I hesitate before looking myself. Yep –it's definitely the same card the others have been pointing out. All of them saying almost exactly the same thing.

Rouge must read my expression. 'So I'm not the first person to say that, huh? Look, it's kinda obvious,' she waves her hand at the image. 'It _looks_ like a hedgehog. It's even _blue_. Why I wouldn't be surprised if those cards were changed to their current type just before you started these experiments, am I right, Ella?'

I pause for a moment, running my hand along the edge of the now rather familiar card...

'Do you think the cards were selected deliberately?'

'Beats me,' Rouge doesn't seem to care either way. 'I just call as I find, sweetie. Why? Do _you_ think that's what they've done?'

I glimpse at the cards uneasily: at the strange navy blue blob that looks so much like a hedgehog (though truthfully, the first thing I thought of looking at it was "porcupine" but I grew up in the south and without superfast _Erinaceidae _for buddies. The test cards _did_ change, just before this week's assessments... But it had been according to the usual schedule; nothing remarkable about it.

'I think I should be the one to ask questions here, Rouge.'

'Suit yourself,' Rouge says as I switch to the next card and she leans back on the couch. 'That one's a duck, by the way. Nothing especially noticeable about that; it just _looks_ like one.'

* * *

It's half an hour later (and in the middle of what is starting to feel like a debate about morality, rather than a Psych-Eval) that Rouge makes an unexpected comment.

'Well, you _were_ spying on me before this session.'

'E-excuse me... _spying_?'

'Hm. Indirectly, of course. I figure you were there by chance as much as we were. Was it _your_ fault your next patient just happened to be getting her caffeine fix at the same time? Still spying though, weren't'cha?' she smirks at me.

'Why do you think that's what I was doing?' I ask again, while trying to tell myself this question has a scientific basis when it really doesn't.

'Beats me... Because that's the kind of thing Topaz would do, I suppose, and you _do _remind me of her in the odd ways. Bet you have one helluva temper when riled, huh?'

I suppose I do, but I don't tell her that. She already apparently knows more about me than I have been able to work out about her.

'Still... intentional or not, you spied,' Rouge says, regarding me curiously. Once again I feel like _I'm _the one being scrutinized. Couldn't resist it, could ya? Just like _if_ couldn't resist going through your drawers before you got here. It's in our natures, no sense in denying it.'

'And is stealing in your nature, Rouge?'

I'm sure I've heard _that_ reasoning before, from a hundred or more human patients, but Rouge's answer still surprises me.

'Possessing pretty things to lighten up a dark cave is,' she says, blankly. 'Whether that ends up in my having to take them without asking... well, it's "wrong" by your standards, I know, but like I said before: you people should really take better care of your pretty baubles. You should understand that if I _wanted_ to, I could get into that high-tech vault where you're keeping the Chaos Emerald in two minutes. Tops.'

I've seen the security takes. I know she's telling the truth. 'Then why don't you?'

'Well...' Rogue sighs irritably. 'It's just that Topaz would get so darn _riled up_ about the whole thing. The prettiest gem in the world can't be worth her jabbering at me for hours, seriously. This bat has sensitive hearing, honey; and she _knows_ it,' she winces visibly. 'Are all you military types like her?'

'I don't know,' I smile. 'I... guess it must be a GUN thing.'

'Hmm. Yeah. The "Guardian Unit of Nations". GUN.' Rouge smiles vaguely. 'What an appropriate name for something so very human.'

'It's more peaceful where you come from?' I ask, because I've been wondering about it for a while. Somehow I can't picture sweet little Cream coming from a world where there's a potential war brewing around every border.

'Hell no, girl,' Rouge smiles. 'Not with old Egghead around, and I can kick and swing with the best of them. But still... I find it kind of funny. "Guardian Unit of Nations" sounds so... protective, and the abbreviation so _aggressive_. Only humans would be so indirect.'

I stay silent, waiting, sensing somehow, that she isn't finished talking. Also sensing that such bold, long winded statements perhaps aren't usually in her nature. 'The letter sending me here was addressed to Topaz, and signed for me... that's kinda funny don't you think?' Rouge says, eventually. 'And I think what it said was... "_After deliberation and consideration –and in light of your recent acceptance of passports and legal jurisdiction designating you as citizens of the United States, we request your presence immediately at a government facility to undergo a standard physical and psychological review of your person_".' She looks at me firmly, waiting, maybe to see my reaction to that wordy statement. I try not to offer one. 'Says _nothing_ about them showing up at god only knows what hour of the morning in big, black cars of course. They were afraid some of us would make a break for it if they told us in advance that we were going to be introduced to the Men in Black.'

'Yes... the others said something along those lines, too,' and I know I'm not supposed to tell her that, but it's by the time I remember that, it's too late.

'Did they, now? Yeah, I can imagine Knuckie got pretty worked up about the whole thing,' she smiles, seeming vaguely amused in spite of her overshadowing annoyance. 'And of course what the letter _really_ meant was "_come along to this creepy place in the middle of nowhere –_blindfolded_ for half the journey– so we can prod you with sticks, ask a bunch of round about questions you don't understand and determine whether or not you're secretly planning on rising up and taking over the place_." That's why Topaz spent the entire morning walking around looking like she had a chip on her shoulder and muttering to herself. She knew what you were after just as I do. This isn't just some "casual" review of our psyches, is it, Miss Crowley? It's something far more _interesting_ than that.'

I bristle slightly at the sound of their truth. Sonic, Cream, Amy... none of _them_ had seemed to suppose that was what the government was after from them, but Knuckles –and now Rouge– have confirmed my own suspicions.

Of course, I'm a _psychologist_. I know there's really no such thing as a "casual, general referral". Everything happens for a reason round here.

One of the first things I was taught on my introduction to psychology was... Well... to put it simply, it was that Humans live behind shields that they erect to protect their own personalities. This is not a particularly bad thing, but is something we've developed over centuries of evolution and adaptation. Scant centuries ago humankind battled with wild beasts and struggled through long, cold winters alone. Though these days, threats to humanity manifest more through mental and emotional confrontations than through physical danger, the shields we created then still hold. Our mental shields are not much different to the spears and shields we used to arm ourselves with back in the days of old (and still do now, in some cases).

My own tutor taught me that. Just like he taught me how to see _through_ those shields. It's my job, but even a person trained in psychiatry for years can't necessarily see through everything a person erects to protect their own personality. That's why so many people have to spend _years_ in psychiatric treatment before a doctor can even begin to work out what (if anything) is wrong with them...

And yet here I am: being expected to turn out multiple informative, detailed and accurate reports about creatures from a world we've never even seen, much less understand, in less than a week.

People, by nature, are not fond of their own walls. A part of us wants to feel everything and everyone, but our fear and shields are holding us back. Some people try to punch through them. Others run; either away from or _into_ them. And others... others _adapt_ to them: shape their lives and identities around them: all their faults and truths and demons become as much a part of them as their physical appearance. Their personality is projected in their every word and movement.

Rouge the Bat is one of those people. Truthful, unabashed, direct, and a thief.

* * *

By the time the session is over, I figure we could both use another cup of coffee (which I will be going for the second she leaves this office, actually). Somehow we ended up talking about jewellery again. I think she may even have ended the session with some advice on stones which would best suit my colouring. i have no idea about jewellery so I can't be sure how accurate she is, but something tells me she is.

'The session's over, Rogue, you're free to leave now if you wish.'

'Free at last, eh?' Rouge stretches her arms (and wings) out behind her back. 'Bout time. Do hours _always_ ;last so dared _long_ in these parts? I swear it's something to do with this creepy world of yours.' Rouge rises off the couch and doesn't touch the floor as she heads for the exit. She _glides_ across the room with barely a flicker to disturb my papers, chic and composed to the last. 'Seeya around, _Doc_. That is if they ever feel like prodding my brain again.'

I watch her leaving silently for a moment, still mostly-empty notebook page open in my lap. Then I feel the question rising up inside of me the way it has a thousand times so far today: all of a sudden, it seems like she's the best person to ask, and that this is the only chance I may have to ask it. 'Rouge... why is it; do you think that everyone wants the Chaos Emeralds so badly?'

'You're asking me?' Rouge looks at me, expectantly.

'...I wanted your opinion.'

Rouge pauses, running her hand across the back of her white glove for a moment as she comes up with her response. At least I think that's what she's doing. 'Who knows? Who can ever tell with these men?' She says, at last. 'Power tempts, I guess. Like diamonds.'

I'm unable to keep myself from smiling at her response, and Rogue smiles back. For a moment, it seems almost as if we're sharing a joke of some kind. Or maybe the joke is on me. With all of my degrees, it's still hard to tell.

* * *

_Final Report Concerning Subject X. _

_Psychologist on Duty: Eloise S. Crowley. _

_It may be important to note that Subject X's first encounter with our species involved her being caught in the act of breaking into a jewellery display in a local museum (See Criminal Files 6553 for details). Subject's personality is materialistic and moderately self centred and she shows both a level of high social interactivity, and a reluctance to make "casual conversation". Subject is intelligent and self assured and shows little to no guilt for her past deviancies. She states that she has "seen the error of taking without asking first", though this psychologist suspects her attitude was mainly sarcastic. Psych tests suggests that while subject is not "cruel" by nature, she is possessed by a certain amount of self preservation, perhaps at the expense of those around her. _

_Subject appears to be "fond" of several of her new "colleagues", including one Military Tac Operative for GUN, Agent Stone (it is suggested that this Agent undergo psychological testing with a more qualified Military-Based psychologist. It is likely that she will prove a positive, rather than a negative influence on her non-human counterpart.) Subject is registered as an Agent for GUN, yet has also shown a tendency to abscond on her own for extended periods of time. It is unknown where she goes at these times, and Subject X was reasonably vague concerning her location at these times. _

_Due to her lack of moral structuring involving some of our country's legal bylaws, subject should perhaps be watched. However, she has recently completed several missions for the agency successfully as a single unit without assistance. It is unlikely that she would utilise her abilities for any purposes which might jeopardise national security, however it would likely be better to maintain her allegiance. _

_Overall, subject seems to fulfil the criteria of most Socially Capable Deviants. _

_**Threat**__: Moderate to High _

_**Suggested Action**__: Subject is unlikely to pose physical treat unless irritated or otherwise alarmed. Is nonetheless highly capable of physical feats which, asides from making her an effective field Agent for GUN, may also make her hazardous should she ever decide against her current position. It is suggested that she no longer attend missions alone. _

_Subject can be bribed (or otherwise distracted) with decorative material objects. Particularly jewellery. _

* * *

**"Stone" is not Topaz's known surname, but it seemed appropriate to me. I don't believe her actual surname has ever been mentioned, or even whether "Topaz" _is_ her first name or her second.**

* * *


	8. Chris

**I think I've developed a bizarre obsession with the word "know" or something. A search had shown it turning up no less than fifty times in this document. Rest assured this was not deliberate. I just need to work on varying my inner thesaurus. **

**Ah well. Next chapter is up and it's a bit longer than usual due to the fact that it's two scenes compiled into one this time. Standard disclaimers apply, and thank you very much for all previous reviews, they made my day. :D**

* * *

Chris. 

A funny thing happened to me on my way to work this morning. It involved a giant cat.

At least I _think_ it was a cat. It's sometimes difficult to tell with creatures from the other world. It took me several guesses to work out that Knuckles was an echidna, and I'm still debating whether Tails might actually be some kind of Kitsune (really, it isn't much harder to believe than the idea of a talking, two-tailed fox). It certainly wasn't like any cat I've ever seen. _Most_ cats would be dicing with death, taking on that particular road at that hour of the day. This one, however... Well, a childish part of my brain couldn't help thinking that any car which hit it would come out worse for the encounter.

So at any rate, this cat (did I mention that it was bright purple?) was crossing the motorway in front of me several blocks away from the car they send to take me to the facility, quite calmly usurping the travel plans of two taxis, three businessmen in open T-Tops, two land rovers, a motorcycle and a medium sized truck. The truck driver was by far the most annoyed by this slow moving creature in his path and was ramming the accelerator _and_ the horn as loudly and frequently as he could.

The cat didn't seem to mind this. He merely stopped and waved through the driver's window. There was a crowd gathering around me by now, whispering in confusion at the sight of this gigantic monster taking over the road. Nobody was panicking. I suppose we're all familiar with the unusual in Station Square by now.

Eventually, the Cat made his slow and steady way up onto sidewalk. The truck was able to sputter into movement and the traffic began to shift again. The creature paused, looking up and down as if in search of something. That something was apparently me. Or anyone like me. Had this been a week earlier, I would've taken a few steps backwards the second he began advancing in my direction, but now, with the testimonies of talking bat-thieves, angry echidnas, impatient blue hedgehogs and cute sentient rabbits behind me, I found the whole scene a lot less intimidating.

Still, he really _was_ a very large cat. As in towering-over-my-head-like-a-giant large; not that I'm particularly tall. But he smiled at me with his eyes, and waved again. If he'd had a hat he probably would've removed it. Something was balanced against his left shoulder and it took me a moment to work out that it was a fishing rod.

'Excuse me, Miss Lady, but you haven't seen a little frog anywhere around here, have ya?'

'Uh...' It's such a bizarre request and such a bizarre situation, that it takes me a moment to respond. 'No. I'm... sorry, but I'm afraid not.'

'Oh...' The cat looks crestfallen and perhaps a little exasperated. 'Oh boy. I guess I've lost him again. That Froggy! One of these days he'll get himself missing and I won't find him. Or he'll swallow another shiny rock and everything will go funny again. That wouldn't be good. I don't think _anyone_ would like that to happen, do you Miss Lady?'

Something about his disappointment bothers me, though for the most part I have no idea what he's talking about. 'I'm... sure we wouldn't. I'm sorry. He must be around somewhere.'

The cat perks up. 'Yeah, you're probably right. I guess he must'a gone to that big lake we saw earlier. Thank you anyway. You're much nicer than that noisy person in the big wagon.' He turned around, filling the entire pavement in the process, and several people shifted to avoid being bowled over. 'People are always in such a big rush to get to somewhere on this world, aren't they?'

'I... suppose they are,' I say, watching as more bemused drivers crawl past in their assorted vehicles. 'Everyone has important places to be, I think.'

'I wouldn't know about that,' the cat shrugs his huge shoulders. 'What's so important that you have to make all that awful noise?'

I've felt a great need to explain my species actions of late. Maybe because I've realised that, in all my time studying the virtues and errs of my own kind, I've never once had to answer for them to another _species_. 'I'm not sure. I think a lot of people around here are probably due a vacation.'

'Hm. You know, I think so too,' the big cat nodded philosophically. 'That way they'd have plenty more time for fishing.' Then he turned to me, offered me half a bow, said: 'It's nice to meet ya, Miss Lady. I had better be going now,' and then he turned away again and walked off in the direction of the park.

If it weren't for the fact I thought it might be rude of me, I would've burst out laughing then and there, and continued laughing all the way to my office; to hell with how my driver looked at me. I could already see the lunchtime headlines forming in my head:

"GIANT PURPLE CAT CAUSES MOTORING CHAOS".

That's Station Square for you, I suppose.

* * *

I don't usually work with children.

I _have_ taken sessions for them every now and then, but those are usually unique examples. Like that thirteen-year-old Chess Master I took on last year, who'd had a nervous breakdown at eleven due to parental pressure. Or the sixteen-year-old Olympic Gymnast who'd failed a banned-substances test and lost her entire career in an instant. It isn't in my job description to work with others in that age range. My usual clients are government mediators, stressed out dignitaries and presidential candidates. _Not_ twelve year old boys.

'Aren't... aren't I supposed to be at school?'

Still, even _I _know that that one is the oldest Get-Out Clause in the book. 'That's alright Chris; we already called them and explained. You'll be back by this afternoon.'

'...Oh. Okay.' He doesn't look entirely pleased, though I'm not sure whether he's more concerned about not being at school, or what lessons he'll be back in time for. It'll probably be algebra (do they still teach that at grade school level?) or some other subject he hates. 'So... I just respond to the words with whatever comes into my head first, right? Like in that game.'

'That's pretty much it,' I smile encouragingly. 'It's called Automatic Word Association.'

We haven't said much, but I've already got a pattern worked out for this one. He isn't precisely what I was expecting of course. In fact, he's as normal as any child I've ever come across. Or as normal as you _can_ be when your mother is one of the best known film stars in the world and your father runs a multi-million dollar corporation. And when you're friends with a speeding blue hedgehog.

It figures, really. After all of these hedgehogs, rabbits, echidnas, bats and Chao, I get a standard, common or garden human kid sitting in my office and looking more nervous than any of the others have so far. I can understand why. If he's anything like his friends then he's already worked out something of what's going on here.

Of course, this boy isn't here for the same reason that Sonic and the others were. Not precisely. He's here because he's in the videos.

The government provided me with many security and television station films prior to the beginning of these sessions. Actually, they provided me with about a _hundred and eleven_ of them in total. I only managed to get through half, and yet in 95 of them, there he was: a boy, roughly twelve-years-old, short brown hair, though the film was never close enough for me to make out his eye colour. A boy falling from a giant robot into the ocean, gripped in Sonic's arms being raced away from a falling building, and again on security cameras, waving at something in the sky...

I can see his eyes now. Large and blue, like the eyes of the woman I saw starring in that Period Drama on television a few weeks ago.

So this is the kid who saved Sonic. And the boy who has been in the picture somewhere getting into trouble in every occurrence involving that hedgehog ever since. _That's_ why he's here, and that's why I've been dusting off my textbooks for dealing with pre-adolescent patients.

'Are you ready?'

'...Okay.'

'Then let's start with "colour".'

'...Blue.'

Now that's hardly a surprise, but somehow I manage to keep from smiling too obviously. 'Glass.'

'Cup.'

'Dog.'

'Pet.'

'Cat.'

'Pool.'

'That's an unusual one.'

Chris shuffles uneasily and offers me what sounds not quite like a laugh, though it's trying to be. 'It's a long story.'

'Well, we _do _have an hour,' I smile. And I can see him tensing at that. Honestly, the kid's more nervous than Cream was. 'Maybe you can tell me it later.'

I don't give him time to look relieved before continuing. 'Fruit.'

'Apple.'

'Class.'

'Room.'

'Book.'

'Worm.'

'Garden.'

'Also worm.' He says, and then. 'Um... when we were kids, you know? We used to dig for them.'

'And get told off by your parents?' I raise an eyebrow, grinning. I'm speaking from experience.

'Sorta,' he half-smiles again.

'I was always more fond of the woodlice myself,' I say. 'They look just like those fossils you sometimes see in geology books, don't they? I used to like the way they curled up when you surprised them.'

'That's what Tails said once, when we were camping,' Chris says. 'He told me it was "the coolest thing he ever saw". I thought that was a little weird. He's seen _Sonic_ in action. How can a little bug be cooler than Sonic?'

'Well I can guess nothing looks cooler to you or me than Sonic during one of his famous Station Square showdowns with Eggman,' I say. 'But Tails has probably known him for a lot longer than we have. He must have seen it all by now.' Chris seems to nod in agreement. I look down at my notebook. 'There are still a few words to go.'

'Okay.'

'Then the next word is "Ghost".'

'Ship.'

'Space.'

'Station.' Ah. Another odd one. I haven't worked with many children but in my own experience, most of them would say "ship" rather than "Station". I'll come back to that later. For now, I decide to push my luck a little (now that I've established that it's highly unlikely he'll storm out on me. The worst reaction I'm likely to produce would probably be him completely freezing up). 'Stone.'

'Rock.'

'Emerald.'

'Chaos.'

That's the word I expected from him, and yet... It sounds strange coming from such a young person's mouth. Like it isn't the kind of thing you'd usually hear them saying (_causing_, sure, but not _saying_). 'World,' I continue.

'Earth.'

'Planet.'

'Globe.'

'Arrival.'

'Bus.'

'Return.'

'...'

'Chris?'

'Um. Can we come back to that one?'

'Afraid not. It's called "automatic word association" for a reason,' I keep smiling but it doesn't seem to help. 'You can say it, Chris.'

'I... don't know,' Chris looks at me with the same expression Amy Rose did earlier –that of someone who is trying very hard to work out what I'm up to.

'Really, Chris, it's alright. You know, I was telling the truth when I said nothing you tell me will be repeated. Not even to your parents.'

'No, that's not it, really, it's just...' He seems concerned about upsetting me. He's probably worried that I have the power to send him to a reform centre with barely a spoken word. (Which I actually do, but that's something I try not to think about too often. It's _frightening_, the idea of that much influence being held by one person. I wonder how the President must feel) 'Well I'm not sure what all this _tells_ you exactly. I mean, we played something like this in school once. Eventually me and Danny always ended up saying the same few words over and over again, and those words didn't seem to mean anything much.'

'Well that's true,' I agree. 'This is probably one of the least reliable techniques. A lot of people don't use it anymore.'

'Then... why are we doing it?'

That's actually not a question I find easy to answer. I lean back in my own chair and fold my hands across my lap, thinking.

'I talk to a lot of people up in this office besides just you and your friends, Chris,' I say. 'Those people have seen a lot, and sometimes it's easier to talk if you don't just jump straight into things. Like if some huge builder came up to me one day and said "hey, Elly, when do you want your house demolished?"...'

Chris chuckles. 'You'd freak out.'

'Exactly. But if they took me into an office, called me "Miss Crowley", all polite-like, gave me a cup of coffee and then told me very slowly and carefully than my house needed to be knocked down and would I mind setting a date for moving out as soon as possible...'

'Then you wouldn't be so mad about it, right?' Chris says.

'Well, no, actually I'd probably _still_ freak out. But it would be the _calm_ variety of freaking. I don't think I'd scream and yell quite so much.'

Another laugh. Still not as genuine as it could be. His isn't an open, happy laugh like Cream's, or a nervous one like Tails. It's as if it _wants_ to be a real laugh, but can't quite summon up the nerve.

Hm. Now isn't _that_ a scientifically accurate explanation?

* * *

'Do you know what laughter is, Chris?' I say, and for a moment, my change of topic seems to puzzle him. His smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

'I'm not sure. Is it some... kind of a reaction, maybe?' He shrugs. 'Instinct?'

'Yes. But it's also more than that. It's a _defence mechanism_. You know how if you just miss being hit by a speeding car, or if you nearly trip and fall but someone catches you just in time?'

'Or a balloon pops in your face?'

'That too. When that happens, and we laugh, we're telling the people around us that we're okay. We're reassuring ourselves as well: "All is fine here. I'm all right. There's no danger".'

'I see,' Chris says, clearly still wondering where I'm going with this.

'Of course, in reality are we might _not_ be fine,' I continue. 'Even if the car misses you, there's still the issue of shock to deal with. But laughter is a way in which humans _deal_ with that shock.' I wait for a second to see how he'll take this before finishing. 'Your laugh... sounds like you're trying very hard to reassure yourself, Chris.'

Chris shuffles, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Once again I get the impression that he wants to be here even less than the non human individuals I've spoken with this week.

I wonder what my superiors would say if I just write "this kid has issues, nothing that some quality time and maybe a new hobby won't fix" in his evaluation and leave it at that?

'Miss Crowley?' He asks after a moment. 'Why... exactly _am_ I here anyway?'

I've been expecting that question from him for a while, so it doesn't surprise me. 'Why do _you_ think you are?'

'Well... because you told me to come, I guess.'

My lip quirks. 'Just so. But be a little more specific.'

He thinks about it, hands curled into fists at the edge of his chair. 'I'm not here because you want to know about me...' He trails off and I wait for him to tell me the answer that I know he's already worked out. He's twelve years old, but he's far from stupid. 'I'm here because you want to know about Sonic.' He looks up. 'You want to know about _him_ through me. To know things about him that he didn't tell you, because you think I might. Because I'm somebody he knows who doesn't come from his world, and because...' He pauses, swallowing, '...He trusts me.'

'I suppose that's pretty much right,' I say. At least now he can rest assured that he's probably not going to end up in Juvenile Hall. 'You _are_ different from them, but you also interact with them regularly. I don't have that advantage, and yet I'm expected to make some very important decisions about their presence here.'

'Do you think they're going to cause trouble?' Chris asks, sounding concerned. 'Because they're not, I promise. That's... they never _asked_ to be here, they just—'

'It's alright, Chris. I _don't_ think I believe Sonic is the troublemaker some people claim he is.' I know this probably isn't something I should be saying, but the look on his face keeps telling me that I can't just leave the kid not knowing or understanding. I can't leave him thinking that we're planning on locking up his best friend if he says a single thing wrong.

'We just want to know Sonic too, Chris. And to understand him as youand others like you do.'

Chris looks down, and when he looks back at me that old, uncertain-whether-to-smile-or-not expression is back again 'But that's just it. I'm not sure I _do_ understand him.'

'Well, I'm sure you know him more than you give yourself credit for,' I say. 'Certainly better than I do, at least.'

'Yeah but... Sonic's a person too,' Chris shrugs. 'I don't know everything about him. Especially not the things he doesn't tell me. If you want to know something about him, ask _him_.'

There's nothing I can say to that, for now. I just turn to the next page of my notebook, deciding it's probably be best to set aside the word association games for now.

* * *

Or _almost_ set it aside, anyway. I still remember one of the answers he gave me earlier.

'You know, it's funny, one of the things you said in that test...' I say, and Chris reacts as if I've just brought up an old family secret, hands tightening their grip on nothing.

'It was?'

'Mm. When I said "Space" to you, I expected you to answer with "ship". That's what most people your age would say. But you didn't. You said "Station", which is something else entirely, right? Was there any particular reason for that?'

His expression has shifted now from a confused one, to one saying "how-in-the-heck-did-you-work-_that_-out from-only-one-word?" 'Well there was, I guess. But why does it make any difference?'

I nod slowly as my suspicions are confirmed. 'Does the name _Space Colony ARK_ mean anything to you, Chris?'

Chris freezes.

It's a rhetorical question, of course. I already know it means something to him. This is the part of him which I've been most interested in from the start. The recording I dwelt on the longest while I was watching and re-watching those videotapes. The _ARK_: hidden in space for fifty years until the day we were bombarded with pre-recorded footage of an old man in a prison cell half a century ago, prophesising our dooms via satellite.

There was a list of names disclosed to a few key people of all those who had been involved in the present day _ARK Incident_ after it was over. The first of all those names was Sonic, closely followed by a list of pretty much everyone I've interviewed or encountered over the last two days and more besides. They even had Rouge listed as Double Agent 366 on behalf of GUN. But there was also a name I never expected to be there, on account of it belonging to a twelve year old: Christopher Thorndyke.

'Uh...' Chris's voice sounds rough all of a sudden. 'I... yeah, it does. I was up there a while ago... But I guess you already know about that.'

'Yes I do. Most people on the planet know a bit about what happened.' More than most of them _want_ to know anyway. Truthfully, I wouldn't have believed it all myself if I didn't have the paperwork to say it happened, and the memory of that bitter, twisted old man whose face had probably once been so kind and gentle tattooed on my brain. 'It must've been exciting,' I say. 'Scary too, of course, but exciting. To go into space like that, when so few people have ever done so. It's quite a story to tell your classmates.'

'...I guess it was. Danny kept saying that I should put in for one of those Record Books. We even had people round at the house asking.'

'As in _Manning's Book of World Records_?' I ask. 'Ah. You must mean for being the youngest individual to ever go into space.'

'Yeah that. Apparently a world record set in this country is only legal for thirty years, provided it hasn't been broken in that time,' he says. I nod and wait for him to continue, even though my brain is already forming more questions. 'Besides, Tails is younger than I am. It should really be _him_, but they're not sure they can count him. That's kind of silly, don't you think? I mean, he has a passport and documents now, so he should really count regardless of what he—'

'Who else should've been the youngest?' I ask.

Chris blinks. '...Excuse me?'

'Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you said that a Manning's World Record is only valid for thirty years,' I explain. 'There was a suggestion in that sentence that you know you _weren't_ the first child in space. That there was someone else out there _more_ than thirty years ago.'

'Well sure there was,' Chris says, blankly. His tone surprises me. There's a note of accusation in his voice, though not a _deliberate_ accusation; he's not angry with me precisely, but... it seems that there's something he expects me to remember which I don't. 'You were in Station Square when it happened, weren't you? You say the Older Robotnik's recording.'

Oh. 'Yes, I was.'

'Then you know why he did it,' Chris says. 'Why he did all of those awful things to us. Why he made Shadow and...'

His voice doesn't so much trail off, as _cut off_ abruptly like a broken tape recording.

Shadow.

I know that name. Of course I know it. And it _is_ a name; just like Sonic and Cream and Amy Rose and Tails_. _All of a sudden I feel foolish for not realising sooner. There's an entire _section_ of files devoted to this in the top-employee-access-only database in headquarters for goodness sakes. I've looked at them before.

I should've looked again. I should've remembered.

'...The Ultimate Life Form,' I say, as calmly as I can (and it's kind of hard to be calm about the idea that somebody could call a creature that. That someone could suggest one being is somehow better than all others). 'That _is_ what they called him, isn't it, Chris? You knew him.'

The silence hanging over us is deeper than anything I've felt over the last few days and he doesn't look at me for what feels like a long time. The atmosphere had changed. It's not just tense and nervous in here anymore. It's darn well _unnerved_.

Eventually, Chris looks back at me. 'Yes. And you were right before, Doctor Crowley. There _was_ a person in space younger than me,' he said. 'Because she'd been there for almost all her life. Maria Robotnik.'

I've said it before and I'll say it again: there is no way I would believe this story if I didn't know that the government has it documented and videotaped. And if I hadn't been stood in the middle of the cafeteria watching the television screen when Gerald Robotnik's ancient message started broadcasting to the masses.

And right now, I'm listening to a story that makes even Knuckles' tales of ancient tribes and powerful Emeralds sound tame. A story set in space in a station that nobody knew existed until less than a year ago, stocked up with technology fifty years before it's time. There was a little girl born with a rare genetic disorder that made her unable to live on the earth. There was a kindly old grandfather who made a home for her in space, and wanted to benefit mankind by creating a being like no other. There was the life form he made, and a friendship torn apart by nothing more or less than human fear. There was Shadow. And then there was Prison Island and an escape into space and... So much more. By the time Chris is two thirds through the story my head is whirling.

'I'm not saying he was a perfect person,' Chris says. 'I... don't think even the Ultimate Life Project could create someone like that. I know he did bad things, and I even know that Sonic took the blame for a lot of them but... everyone does things when they're angry that they normally wouldn't do, you know?' He looks to see if I agree. A part of me has to. 'Shadow was angry with all of us. I guess that I'd be angry too, if someone took my only friend away...' One hand curls over his chest. 'But he _saved_ everyone in the end. Even after everything he'd done. That should mean something...

'I still have one of his rings,' He adds. 'It's like the ones Sonic uses when he needs extra power, but they usually disappear after they've been drained. This one didn't for some reason, so Sonic gave it to me.'

'Why do you think he did that?' I ask quietly, remembering suddenly that I'm supposed to be _reviewing_ this kid and not just listening to him talk.

'I'm not sure. I guess because I was the only person there who really knew Shadow. Except for Rouge and... I don't think he _thought_ that maybe she might want it.'

'You believe you understood him. Shadow.' I say, and mentally I say: _and you miss him, too. You miss him more than you thought it was possible to miss someone who you only knew for a short time and who had done so many awful things. _But I don't say this aloud.

His answer is a long time coming. 'Yes,' he says. 'I think I did. At least a little bit.'

'More than you understand Sonic?'

He can't seem to answer that. The silence falls between us once again for several minutes.

'A young child,' I say at last. 'You say that she was twelve years old when they...' I swallow, unable to bring myself to say the words aloud. I know what must've happened to her. Fifty years ago, they couldn't treat the illness she had: an immune disorder that turned the entire planet into her death trap. If she wasn't killed when the Colony was attacked, then she surely died not long afterwards. How silly of a psychiatrist to be so quaint. '...Took her away. That's the same age as you are, Chris.'

Chris looks at me.

'Shadow saved you from that island and took you to the Colony,' I continue. 'He never told you why, or tried to explain, did he? You never even understood why he saved you in the first place. But now I think _I_ understand. You reminded him of someone he couldn't forget. The same person who had been driving his actions.'

My mind is flickering to a photo in a computer file. I barely glimpsed at the image for a second originally, and yet it returns to haunt me now, as clearly as if I'd memorised it. An old man with a face that looks disturbingly like that of a wannabe dictator I'm somewhat familiar with; and yet there's something far more warm and gentle about his pose. Standing at his shoulder is a girl with light hair pulled back in an Alice band. The image is sepia, but I can imagine the colour of her eyes: they're blue. Bright cornflower blue. And she's smiling brightly, like there's nothing in the world wrong with her.

All of a sudden, it seems so obvious.

'Maria?' Chris says quietly.

'Hm. That must have made him so angry,' I say. 'Angrier than he already was. Can you imagine it? There you were; this twelve year old child who had the nerve to look the way you do.'

'But then... why?' He doesn't seem to understand. Or maybe he does and is simply afraid to admit the fact. Afraid to realise something significant when it's too late to make a difference.

'Maybe because he eventually found that he couldn't be angry at you for that anymore. For exactly the same reason that he had been angry,' I say softly. 'For Maria. He started all of it for her, Chris. And you reminded him, with what you said and how you looked, exactly _what_ he had begun in the first place. What she wanted_: for him to make people happy._

'I think that's why he decided to help us in the end. That's the reason why he... stopped being angry. You reminded him. You made a difference. You don't have to feel sorry about that anymore.'

Because that's it.

...I understand something now. It isn't what I came here this morning expecting to discover, but it's there nonetheless. And somehow it's important. We _are_ connected: Sonic's world and ours.

It's another five minutes before Chris speak again. When he does his voice is choked, and he's trying very hard to look as if he hasn't spent the last five minutes trying not to cry in front of me.

'Um. You're... not going to tell anyone I said all that stuff, right?' He asks.

'I smile. Of course not, Chris. Like I said: my lips –and psychological case notes– are sealed.'

This time he looks as if he believes me.

* * *

I check my watch. 'Oh-kay. We've hit the five minute warning, kiddo. You know as much as I hate to send you back to School...' I mean that, actually. I'm thinking I'd kind of like to keep this one. I should spend more time around kids. They... _teach_ you things.

'I don't mind. Whatever Mr Steward's got planned it can't be any weirder than this...'

'I can understand that. Things have been crazy around here lately, haven't they?' I ask. He says nothing, but his expression tells me that he agrees. 'Do you know what happened to me this morning?'

'No?'

I grin. 'A _giant, purple cat_,' I say, 'blocked the middle of the city byway by crossing the road. There was about half a mile of traffic building up behind him. I couldn't believe it myself. And then he comes over to me and asks "have you seen a little frog anywhere?"'

Chris blinks at me, but surprisingly enough he doesn't seem to doubt what I'm saying. 'Oh... so that's where he got to, huh? We were wondering where they went.'

'Wait, you mean you know him?'

'The cat? Sure. His name is Big.'

Once again, it's sheer politeness which forces me not to laugh. 'Now _that's_ an appropriate name if ever I heard one. I guess they all have names which suit them. Just like Sonic.'

'Maybe not _all_ of them. What about Miles?'

'Tails' first name?'

'Yeah but he doesn't like people calling him that. I think it's the combination which bothers him.'

'Miles per Hour,' I grin. This time when Chris laughs, it's genuine. 'They aren't sure about the name Miles's meaning exactly,' I say as soon as we've both stopped sniggering. 'But they think it may be "peaceful". I suppose that's accurate for Tails, too, isn't it?

'I guess it is... Maybe people should do that too. Name their kids after their personalities.'

I wonder whether _Shadow the Hedgehog_ chose his own name. I have a feeling he didn't. It probably had something to do with a twelve-year-old girl. "Shadow" does sound like just the kind of name a child would like.

I wonder what "Maria" means. 'That would be nice. Most people don't know the meaning of names when they choose them. They just like the sound of them.'

'I think where Sonic comes from they do things a little differently. Maybe they choose their own names, for one thing. Or maybe they have more than one throughout their lives, and they choose a new one when they're old enough to know what they're like.'

It seems to make sense. 'And then there's Amy.' I say. 'That name means "loved", doesn't it? A loved rose.'

'I think that's true.' Chris says, sounding sure of himself again. 'I don't think she always _gets_ it, and I don't think some people are good at _showing_ it, but it's true. And the Rose part... kinda fits. Except maybe when she's mad at Sonic.'

'She gets mad at Sonic a lot, huh?' Worse luck for him. I can just picture what _that_ would be like.

'Not a lot... Just sometimes. And she always forgives him eventually.'

'Forgives him for _what_ exactly?' he seems to find it easier talking about sonic in relation to someone else.

'A few things. It's just that he forgets a lot. Sometimes really important things. It's not his fault. I guess it's because he lives so quickly and does so much...'

That sometimes the other things go straight in one fuzzy blue ear and out of the other, I finish the thought in my own head. 'But he's always there when we need him,' Chris adds. 'He just has this way of just showing up whenever we're in trouble. Even when we had no idea where he was before, or when we think we've really had it this time...

'He's not dangerous.' Chris looks up at me, and the urgency has returned to his eyes. 'He's not dangerous at all, Miss Crowley. _None of them_ are. Well... except for Eggman, and Sonic will always be around to take care of him.'

'You sound very sure of that.' I say. And that's notable for this kid, who seems certain of so little.

'I _am_ sure,' Chris says. 'Whenever Sonic is concerned, you always know you can count on him... except maybe for dates.'

'Well, it's been quite remarkable around here since he showed up,' I say softly. 'I'll give him that much, Chris.'

'I know what you mean,' Chris nods. And then he smiles at me, as if he's aware of a joke that I don't quite understand 'Station Square. It's... definitely an interesting place to live, isn't it?'

* * *

Five minutes later and I'm talking my break early, catching a glimpse of the world outside of my office window. It's a cloudy morning, and we'll probably see rain by twelve. That's okay. I never go out for lunch anyway.

There's an unfamiliar car parked outside of the building and I watch it for a moment. Chris emerges from the door outside my window, and I realise the car belongs to his family. He races down the steps, suddenly pauses, then turns and runs back into the building. He emerges again twenty seconds later with a knapsack. Typical.

I'm not certain, but I think I catch a glimpse of someone pink and red leaning out of the vehicle's open door as he runs down the steps. That pink person all but pulls him into the car, seeming eager to get away from the building as soon as possible... Just like the line of vehicles which appears to be building up _behind _the Thorndyke's. I smile. Looks like they didn't notice they were blocking the entrance to the parking lot.

Everyone is always in such a hurry. Just like all those people stuck in traffic behind the giant cat this morning. The people in this department could probably learn a thing or two from Big... And Sonic thinks we're _slow._ I find myself laughing at the absurdity of such an idea. Or maybe that's just my own self defence mechanism playing up again. It's been doing that a lot lately.

Chris was right: Station Square really is an interesting place to live. Oh yes. It's nothing if not that.

* * *

_Extra Case Notes Concerning Individuals in Contact with Aforementioned Case Studies. _

_Psychologist on Duty Dr. E.S. Crowley. _

_Connector C seems to be mildly lacking in social aptitude and does not to make friends easily. C therefore becomes very attached to those he does connect with. Appears not to differentiate between human friends, and non-human, speaking of them equally and without differentiation. His character appears to fall into a Type-A category. _

_C appears to have been present at the majority of occurrences involving Subject S over the previous year. This may be attributable to his attachment to the Subject which falls somewhere between affection and hero worship. Whether Subject S's own behaviour is connected to C's actions upon Subject's arrival in this world is unclear, but possible. C apparently has a mild influence over the Subject's actions, though confesses to being unable to "predict his movements" as efficiently as we had previously assumed. _

_Subject has a logical, scientific mind. At his age, the extent of such qualities are difficult to pinpoint without further testing which I do not believe is necessary at this time. At only twelve-years-old, this subject's legal capacities are also fairly limited in spite of his family's influence. _

_**Important notes**__: Subject was involved in the events which took place on board _Space Colony ARK_ (see Private Case Files for the_ ARK Incident_ 2005) and apparently formed a connection with the instigator of _

_the aforementioned Incident (see psychological case notes 0668, "_Project Shadow_"). The extent of this connection (and the extent of C's actual role) remains unclear. _

_**Potential Threat: **__Negligible_

_**Suggested Action**__: Submit subject for counselling in relation to his involvement with Project Shadow. However supplementary such connections may be they have made a lasting impact upon a boy of an impressionable age. _

_While some further exploration into C's involvement with Subject S might be wise, it is currently unlikely that C would encourage Subject S to become involved in untoward activities (more than anything, he simply has no reason for which to do so) and any obvious investigation might only serve to produce a more undesired reaction. C potentially provides a point at which more frequent interactions with all Subjects can be established._

_Asides from this, there is little more than can be said except that C possesses a surprising capacity for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and his role in recent events is likely incidental. He is just a kid. Leave him alone._

* * *

**Chris and Ella's conversation about laughter is semi-gacked from a similar conversation in the first volume of the American published manga "**_**Shutterbox**_**". Credit for the original phrasing obviously goes to that author. No theft was intended. **


	9. Interlude

An interlude in everything and the scenario draws ever closer to its conclusion. Reviews and concrit are appreciated.

* * *

Interlude.

'So then...'

The room falls oddly still when Amy speaks.

They've said very little since they all arrived, trailing in one at a time over a half hour period. Chuck Thorndyke greets them all but otherwise he doesn't say much either. They're dealing with an experience right now, and it isn't one he's familiar with. What little he knows about psychology comes from the associated chapters in books on metaphysical science and late night television on the Crime and Forensics Channel). He'll wait until they ask before he offers any input. For now his presence is all he can offer.

Tails was technically the first, but he had already been present, playing with the Chaos Emeralds in the sealed chamber. Amy came in not long afterwards draped in one of Cream's flower crowns, and Cream was not far behind her (along with her eternally present Chao, Cheese. A few minutes later Chuck had heard Chris stumbling on the staircase, no doubt thinking he was late. Then came Knuckles, second of last (though not everyone had expected him to show up at all) walking silently across the room and sitting down on the floor, arms folded and expression as grim and serious as ever.

Sonic was ironically the last to appear, bringing with him a sharp gust of wind, and also, Chuck noticed, the faint scent of tea leaves. ('China again, Sonic?'

'Yeah I pit-stopped once or twice. Those guys on the Great Wall make some awesome chilli.'

'Humph. Maybe so but they've got some damned disreputable taverns.'

'Hey, _relax_, Knuck'ster, I steered clear of the back alleys.')

There is quiet after that. Tails comments on the Emeralds and mutters something about regulating power flows, but nobody bar Chuck understands what he means, so no one responds. Cream talks for a while about the technicalities of flower crowns and the proper way to string each stem together so they don't fall apart, and when she runs out of things to say about that, she falls silent too.

They've been waiting for this for _hours_ and now that they're all actually here, sitting together in the attic like it's just another evening, nobody quite knows how to start.

Clearly someone has to take command of things. In this situation it happens to be Amy. Chuck Thorndyke is content to sit back and let that be for now.

'...Why don't we do this in order, then?'

Chris looks up from his spot on the bed, blinking. 'In order?'

'Yeah. That way we can work things out from the beginning and figure out what to do next. You should always do this kind of stuff chronologically, right Tails?'

She looks at Tails with an expression that isn't quite demanding, but isn't safe to brush off either. Amy is like that. If there's one thing Chuck knows she hates then it's sitting in silence and doing nothing while the world goes on without her. 'Um... Yeah I guess. I mean, it's a good enough place to start.'

'Okay, then that's settled,' Amy says. 'We'll start with a little questionnaire. You got a pen and paper there Chuck?'

Chuck gives a smile, lifting his notepad. 'Way ahead of you.'

'Good. So let's start,' she coughs to clear her throat and continues loudly: 'All those who got asked to look at funny cards with inky blotches on them and say what they saw, raise your hand now.'

Six hands rise into the air. That's everyone who's here at least. They can't speak for Rouge, of course, but they probably did the same with her. Amy gazes around at the show of hands. 'Okay... I guess that's all of us. So that's six for the funny ink blots. Better write that down.'

Chuck does.

'And hands up everyone who saw a hedgehog,' Chris puts in before Amy can think what else to ask. No hands are dropped. Everyone starts sniggering.

'They did that on purpose, didn't they?' Tails smiles dryly.

'It's quite possible that they did,' Chuck gives an equally amused grin. 'Should I write that down too?'

'Why not?' Amy shrugs. 'We need all the information we can get I guess. Question two: who was asked weirdly intrusive questions about their home and childhood?'

Five hands go up this time. The only one who doesn't respond is Chris. 'She didn't ask much... but she did seem to _guess_ a lot of it,' he says when everyone looks his way. 'It was kind of weird, actually: she already knew so many things that I didn't tell her.'

'Well, she could get records and testimonies about _your_ childhood, Chris,' Chuck points out. 'And rather extensive ones at that.'

'You think so, grandpa?' Chris frowns, seeming as oblivious as usual to the public's interest in superstar families. Chris's birth had, after all, been announced on the cover of about a dozen celebrity magazines. He'd been a worldwide issue on his christening and his first day of school and that time when he managed to fall down a flight of stairs. (Rotten business, that. A kid _trips on an untied shoelace_ and does nothing more than sprain an ankle, and yet his parents face a free-for-all from reporters and a million unfair accusations from people who didn't even know them, complaining about bad parenting. Tanaka had anguished about it for weeks and Chuck had placed a household ban on tabloid newspapers) To this day Chris still doesn't know why he gets steered away from the middle shelf every time they're in a newsagents.

'I know so. Your mother is _Lindsey Flair_, Chris. But the others come from the other world, so their past isn't exactly public knowledge.' And there are probably a good few things that the government want to know about Sonic's childhood, he thinks, but doesn't say aloud.

'That sounds like a good explanation.' Tails nods. 'She asked me a lot of questions about the Tornado and when I first started building things. She even asked about my parents.'

'What'cha tell her?' Sonic asks, making his first comment since his one on Chinese tea.

'Just the stuff I could remember, which isn't an awful lot; you know that, Sonic.' Tails shrugs, and Chuck realises with some surprise that he's never actually asked Tails anything about his family. Not once, in all their conversations about mechanics and computing and technology. In fact it's not a topic he's ever brought up with _any_ of them, except for Cream and she just has a tendency to tell you things without your asking.

'Oh-kay so that's five of us at least...' Amy mutters. 'Damn it; I never thought I'd say this but why can't Rouge be around for once?'

'Still I guess they probably asked her about home too, since she's from our world,' Knuckles said.

'Yeah I guess. You got that, Grandpa Chuck?'

'It's all in writing,' Chuck says. 'Next?'

'Next is: how many people were asked to draw funny pictures with coloured pens?' Amy says. And this time she's the only one who raises her hands. Her face goes red as she realises this. '_Urgh_, why did she only do that with _me_? What the heck possessed her to think that I'd be good at drawing?'

'That reminds me!' Cream says, suddenly, jumping to her feet. 'I have to draw that picture for Miss Ella too! Amy where did I put the paper?'

'Miss Ella?' Chuck repeated, watching bemused as Cream started rooting about on tabletops looking for the sheets of paper Amy had brought back from her "appointment".

'Yes. That's the Doctor's name. Her real name is... is Ello-something, but she said that some people call her Ella. Don't you think that's funny?'

'Yeah. Funny,' Knuckles says, blankly. '_Another_ coincidence.'

His sarcasm appears to go right over Cream's head; or maybe she's too distracted by her paper search to pay attention to it. 'I think I'll call her Miss Ella so that so we can tell her apart from our Ella,' she says, still searching through the drawers. 'It's a nice name, so there's no sense in calling her something different so we don't get confused, right?'

'Yeah, that's what I figured,' Sonic quirks a smile. 'Good move, Cream. We wouldn't wanna mix them up.'

He's humouring her. Chuck can tell. He's spent enough years dealing with kids to know how to do that, and how to tell when others are doing it. Cream isn't stupid but she _is_ young. She can only understand so much of what's going on right now. Just typical that Cream should find a way of growing attached to the good doctor, never mind the fact that "Miss Ella" held all of their fates in the palm of her hand right now.

Still, Chuck has been wondering about all that himself. He knows they're up to something over in that big strange facility, but he can't for the life of him think what it might be.

'Anyway, you can draw pictures later, Cream,' Amy says, impatiently. 'Come on, we're still in the middle of a meeting here.'

Cream pauses, shuffling. 'But won't she mind? I _did_ promise, and it's getting late. If I leave it much longer I won't have time before tomorrow.'

'I'm sure she'll be fine about it, Cream.' Chuck coughs. 'We can just give her whatever you draw for her some other time.'

'Right. There's no need to rush these things,' Amy says. Then she looks at Chuck. 'So, we need to write that down too, right grandpa? That's one for picture drawing. Technically two, if we count Cream's.'

'Got it,' Chuck taps his pen against the paper. 'Anything else on your part?'

'Not much... I guess we talked about a lot of things,' Amy looks thoughtful. 'Oh, she did ask to hold my hammer. She wanted to know where I kept it.' she chuckles lightly. 'Isn't that weird? I mean, who _asks_ where you keep these things?'

Well, Chuck thinks, _he_ asks himself, quite frequently. Amy has never been able to provide him with a particularly clear explanation of exactly where her hammer goes when she isn't using it. He figures that their world operates entirely on a type of ethereal edict: in other words, the rule of "it just DOES, okay?"

You told her? Knuckles asks.

'Well sure. I _tried_ to explain, but she didn't seem to understand exactly,' Amy shuffles. 'I mean, it's not that I lied or anything, and she seemed harmless enough. She asked a lot of questions about _you _Sonic.' She looks expectantly up at Sonic's hammock.

'She did, huh?' Sonic doesn't seem too surprised about that. He doesn't even bother to open his eyes. No wonder. It always seems to come back to him in the end, doesn't it? It's probably something he's used to by now.

'She asked me about you too,' Cream said, sitting herself back down on the bed besides Chris. 'She wanted to know a lot of things.'

'Yeah?' Sonic opens one eye and looks around. 'You too huh, Chris?'

Chris nods.

'Seems like you were a general topic of conversation,' Knuckles says, dryly.

'Heh. Yeah, seems she asked everyone about me except _me_,' Sonic shrugs, looking less concerned about this fact than he surely must be.

'It's no surprise, really,' Chuck says. 'After all, it's probably you that they're the most interested in. I figure that's why this whole thing was set up in the first place.'

'You mean they questioned all of us just so they could learn about Sonic?' Chris frowns. He doesn't seem to understand at first, but he's a bright kid: Chuck knows that he'll work it out eventually.

'Yes, I imagine that that's exactly why they did this.' Chuck folds his arms, gazing at the nearby hammock firmly.

'So... is that it?' Amy looks surprised. 'No one did any other tests? Just a bunch of weird questions about Sonic and a bunch of inkblots?'

'There was one other test she did with me,' Chris says after a moment. 'Everyone who was given a word, and asked to say another word back in response, raise your hand.'

Only three raise their hands this time. Tails doesn't, and neither do Amy and Knuckles.

'Automatic word association, eh?' Chuck muttered, remembering something from it from the Forensics channel. How odd... I could've sworn that one had been scientifically discredited.'

'Scientific-ly what, grandpa?' Cream asks, looking confused.

'Oh, that means that they don't think it's accurate enough to give the right answers anymore, so a lot of doctors have stopped using it, Cream. It's... not much of a scientific test at all, really.'

'Yeah and I don't see what she could've learned about us from it anyway.' Chris said. 'We play a game just like that at school.'

'I'm sure the doctor had her reasons,' Chuck mutters, folding his arms and staring into the Containment Chamber where the Emeralds lie. 'Whatever her aim was it certainly wasn't her intention to make it obvious.'

'So spill it already,' Knuckles says impatiently. 'What exactly have we been doing for the last two days anyway? We've been asked question after question, had our lives interfered with and been prodded with Chaos only knows what... Are you trying to tell that it's all just because of some governmental curiosity about our resident speed freak?'

'Hey easy, Knuckles, it's not like they _forced_ us to go along with the whole thing, right?' Sonic suggests, though they all know at once that this isn't entirely true.

'Only because they made it so they didn't _have_ to force us,' Knuckles says, bluntly. He gazes directly at Chris has he says this. 'Didn't they?'

Chris shuffles uncomfortably, the same way his father used to whenever Chuck caught him taking important workshop machinery apart. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean that there are more ways to get people to behave in the way that you wish them to than just outright force,' Knuckles explains. 'There's bribery for one thing, and blackmail for another. I don't know much about this whole world's governmental system but I'm guessing that it's probably not a good idea to make yourself look bad in front of the public by manhandling young children and other worlders.'

It's a good point. One that none of them had expected _Knuckles_ of all people to make. And yet it's something which has been racing around in Chuck Thorndyke's brain for a while now. Because of course he's seen it all before, if only on the Crime and Forensics Channel: send formal but subliminally threatening letters filled with disguised warnings and misleading legal clauses so that people can't get out of it; throw them even further off guard by catching them at the most inopportune moment possible (say, for example, by pulling up outside their house in a large black car at five-fifteen in the morning). Ask dozens of roundabout questions just to get to a single point you might not be able to coax out of them otherwise...

'C'mon, guys. This is starting to get weird,' Chris sighs. 'I mean, listen to us; we're all acting like we're in trouble or something but why would we be? We haven't done anything wrong.'

'Well, not since Sonic blew a hole in the district attorney's office anyway,' Tails put in, 'and Mr Thorndyke paid to have that fixed right away.'

'That's right,' Cream nods. 'I'm sure that Miss Ella doesn't mean us any bother. She seemed really nice to me.'

'Right, of course not,' Knuckles mutters ironically. 'She was only _doing her job_, after all. Just like those men in black who pulled up outside of the door at some crazy hour yesterday morning. Or those people in helicopters who thought it was a bright idea to shoot at a little girl in a wheelchair and a hedgehog just because he didn't show up for some fancy charity thing.' Knuckles folds his arms, staring firmly at the floorboards, as if he thinks glaring at them for long enough might force them to reveal some kind of hidden secret. 'It's never _anyone's_ fault, because everyone involved was only "doing their job". I've known civilisations fall from just that kind of attitude, and if Doctor Crowley comes out of all this thinking we're enemies of some kind...'

'Enemies?' Sonic sits up abruptly in his hammock. 'Hey whoa there, Knuckles. I don't wanna be _anybody's_ enemy. Well s'cept for Egghead that is, and you guys all _know_ that he asks for it.'

Knuckles looks at Sonic bluntly. 'Yeah, I've seen civilisations fall under _that_ kind of attitude as well.'

'_That attitude_? What're you talking about, Knuckles?' Sonic frowns, scratching behind one ear. 'I'm not acting any differently to the way I usually do, am I?'

'No you're not. And _that's_ exactly the problem. I'm saying you should take responsibility for your actions, Sonic. None of us would be in this situation if you hadn't drawn so much attention to us in the first place. In fact, none of us would even be _in_ this world in the first place if it hadn't been for you mixing it up with Chaos Energy.'

'Hey for the record that was _Egghead's_ fault, not mine,' Sonic grumbles. Chuck can feel the tension in the air, and all of a sudden he remembers exactly why they try not to leave Knuckles and Sonic together in the same room for extended periods. 'And I'm not even gonna count the number of times you've nearly gotten us all screwed over by thinking of trusting that guy on his word, Knucklehead. You're not exactly one to talk to us about underhanded motives.'

'Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?' Knuckles snaps, and Cream shuffles from her spot on the bed until she's behind Chris.

'Oh come on, guys, cut it out?' Amy snaps. 'Does it really matter how or why we're here? We don't even know what "here" is anyway. And we sure as heck didn't ask to be dumped in this world, _or_ to stick around for long enough to need driver's licences!'

'Knuckles does make a point,' Chuck says, feeling suddenly ten entire years older than he is. 'But

the first time sonic ever drew attention to himself, he was rescuing Cream and Cheese from a government military base. He did what had to be done.'

'That's right,' Cream squeaked. 'And I wouldn't have liked to stay there any longer than I did.'

'I guess that's what you told the doctor, eh?' Knuckles says. Nobody answers him. Nobody can think how to without sounding incriminating.

'So... so what _were_ they after then?' Amy asks nervously. 'I don't understand what all this is about.'

No one can answer that question. Cream shuffle uncomfortably, trying to wrestle with the idea of the nice doctor working for anybody who might wish them harm. Chris might have some suspicions but he refuses to speak them aloud no matter how firmly Chuck looks at him. Sonic remains silent, arms folded behind his head as he gazes up at the ceiling.

* * *

He hears them whispering on the rooftops.

he's working on a new set of programming at the time. It's been hours since they talked and talked without any answers appearing and he's been planning a few things in that time. Tails is dozing in a nearby chair, the others have all gone off to bed and Sonic... well, Sonic is on the roof, and he isn't alone as Chuck realises this when he hears muttering and movement.

Wait, hold on a second...'

'Urgh! A-_my_!'

'Oh don't be such a wimp, Sonic, you had a _thorn_ in your quills, that's all.

'Ngh. What do you want?'

'Does a girl need a reason to talk to her boyfriend?'

'Amy...'

'Okay, okay. So really? I wanted to talk to you about this whole psychology thing... Sonic do you really think they think we're dangerous?

Chuck stays silent, fingers poised in the middle of a key code he will never complete. 'Think?' Sonic says eventually. 'Amy, I _know_ they do.'

There is a long silence. '...Really?' This doesn't sound like it's the answer Amy wanted. 'You actually thought about it?'

'Yeah. Why, you surprised?'

'Well... just a little bit.'

'Hey, all that running around isn't all I do you know. I figured it out, before: the reason those government guys wanted to talk to us.'

'You did?'

'Yup.'

'Oh... you could've told us, you know. It's not like we would've reacted badly. And...'

'Yeah?'

'Well... there's some stuff I probably wouldn't have said if I'd known it was you that they were interested in. There are things that should be for _your_ ears only, my darling.'

There's a noise which sounds rather like one hedgehog crash landing on another. 'Ngh, heeey Amy! Cut it out!'

'Hee!'

There is silence from several moments. Chuck continues typing and pretending he isn't eavesdropping.

'...It was nice.' Amy whispers.

'What's that?'

'Talking to Doctor Crowley. I know there's something funny going on here, and I know that maybe it would've been better not to say anything, Amy said quietly. But... it was still nice, talking to her about stuff. It was like... she really listened to everything. Even though she didn't understand it.'

'Yeah... guess I got that from her too. Kinda funny.'

I figured they were just interested in us, that's all,' Amy says, quietly. 'Then when they asked _Chris_ to go in, I got... confused. I kept thinking: why would they want to know about _him_? He's not from our world. 

The only way he's connected to our world is through us. That's when I figured,' she shuffles slightly, feet clattering on the tiles. 'That there was something weirder up with this. I can see now why Chuck was so worried about it.'

'Maybe so... we'll deal, though. Whatever it, it can't really be all _that_ bad.'

'I... guess.'

Another silence. Sonic isn't one for conversation, but Chuck isn't one for letting comments go unnoticed. He waits patiently for someone else to speak.

'Hey, know what else the Doctor said?' Amy squeaks, sounding far more cheerful all of a sudden. 'She said that I should be _honest _with you. Completely honest, just be myself and then eventually you'd... Sonic? Sonic where did you? Heeeey get back here right now, hedgehog I wasn't finished _talkiiing_!'

Chuck smiles and goes back to his computer.

* * *

**The idea of "Ethereal Edict" is drawn from a webcomic titled Gunnerkrigg Court, by Tom Siddell. **

* * *


	10. President

**So, I came to check my email after posting the last chapter of this fic...**

**...And damn near jumped out of my seat when I discovered a grand total of _sixty seven_. I now have more reviews for "_Blue_ _Hedgehog Psychology_" than I do for any other existing fanfiction that I have posted on this site (bar one discontinued fic for another fandom), and even though I _know_ that a story is not necessarily "good" or "bad" based solely on how many reviews it has, this still makes me very happy. Thank you very much for every one of them. **

**Unfortunately, I don't have a very character-centric chapter to give you to say thank you, but this is neccessary I swear. Standard disclaimers apply. Reviews and concrit are, as ever, appreciated. **

* * *

President.

Urgh.

Damn it.

I didn't get enough sleep last night. Where I'm concerned, that's always dangerous. There's probably nothing worse than a psychiatrist who falls asleep in the middle of a session. What with all the strange dreams I kept having, it was difficult to keep my eyes shut. I don't remember much about them, of course; I never have, but I do remember running away. I'm one of those unoriginal people who _always_ seems to dream about running when they feel stressed out. While I was treating Kuzaki (the chess grandmaster, I mentioned?) I even had dreams of being hunted down by angry black knights and raging white queens. I had to swear myself off coffee and artificial sweeteners for a week.

Dreams are the psychology of the subconscious mind, or so many of the old books say, and thousands of people who dream of running are in fact, responding to trying to escape from the pressures and anxieties that they feel are attacking them in the real world. Any psychiatrist who's worth their salt knows that, though no one understands for certain why it happens.

And yet...

Well. Most people don't dream about _Space Stations_ on a regular basis, do they?

'Doctor Crowley?'

I look up. Christina Cooper stands before me. I've never worked with her myself, and she was employed here long before I was, but I think I understand her well enough from the few brief meetings we've had. She's prim and sensible and direct to the point of asperity. There's nothing wrong with that, of course. It's probably how she got this job in the first place.

'Oh... yes?'

'The president will see you now,' she says, still ruffling through the stack of notes in one hand –no doubt checking for the small print the president failed to notice before he signed them. 'But you only get five minutes. We have some dignitaries due in ten.'

'That's alright, thank you.' It's longer than I got with him the first time around. Honestly, I never expected to be back in the President's Office any time soon.

On the surface the room hasn't changed very much. The potted plants are a little more wilted, and I think someone might've moved that painting on the left hand wall, but asides from that everything about this place is exactly the same as it was during my first introduction, right down to the fact that the president doesn't even look up from his memo pad when I enter.

'Doctor Crowley, is it?' He says. 'Come in, make yourself comfortable.'

_Make yourself comfortable_, he says. Of course, I'm pretty sure he's forgetting who he is and where I am. Not everyone gets welcomed into the Big White Room –not even for only five minutes. Nonetheless, I say 'Yes sir,' and sit down on the nearest chair, unfolding the papers I have under one arm as I do so.

'Sorry to bother you but... I'm here about my latest group of case studies... The Galaxy X minority?'

'Ahh. _Those_ reports again, eh?' The president looks at me wryly and I suddenly have the feeling he's been as overrun with talk of extra terrestrials and speeding blue hedgehogs for the last few days as I have. 'The officials at GUN have been up in arms about it –no pun intended.'

'Yes sir. Well, that's why I thought I'd bring them to you directly, seeing as your agents in GUN were interested in getting them as soon as possible.'

'So I'd noticed, Doctor,' the president sits upright, placing down whatever bill he's currently reading. 'Sorry about that. You understand what it's like in these places. Everyone wants everything done at the same time. Of course, you have my permission to take an extra week to compile your information, if you require.'

I get the distinct impression that he _wants_ me to take the extra week. I wouldn't be surprised. His In-Tray is no doubt full to overflowing, and the last thing he needs is a psychologist's report on visiting aliens being dumped on top of his already substantial workload.

'Thank you, but I don't think I'll need it,' I say (and I can see him deflating slightly in response.) 'I have all the necessary data right here.'

The president looks surprised. 'Really?'

'Ah... yes sir.' I hand most of the papers over. 'These are just the basic overviews. The more detailed files have already been uploaded to the GUN databases, so you should be able to read them at any time that's convenient for you.'

'You mean to tell me that you've managed to construct a detailed and accurate analysis on every one of them after only a single hour's session each?' The president continues to gaze at me in surprise. 'Good grief, Doctor Crowley, you even had my new _Driver_ in there for two hours.'

Somehow, I'm not surprised he said that. 'True, but they're really not so different. While they possess many physical capabilities beyond our own, mentally they _are_ quite similar to human beings. I... _was_ planning to suggest that one or two of them be returned for further psychological treatment in a few 

minor areas,' I say (a certain echidna springs immediately to mind) but for the most part I think I've learned as much as I'm going to.' I pause for a second and take a deep breath. 'Frankly, sir, I'm... not entirely sure what it was I was supposed to be compiling in the first place.'

'Is that so?' He regards me with interest over the reports I handed him, and I have to run through my mental script a few times.

'Well... yes. I assumed that you wanted a typical personality review similar to the one given to every new employee at the facility. But... some of that isn't making sense to me now, it...' I pause, fumbling with my words. I had everything I was going to say prepared and worked out in my head not five minutes ago, but now I can't seem to remember any of it. Trying to explain yourself to one of the most powerful men in the world can do that to you. 'There's... something unusual about their requests, sir. I'm not entirely sure what GUN _wanted_ me to discover, but I can assure you, all I'm seeing here are some surprisingly ordinary individuals.' Who just happen to be short and furry and come from another universe.

The president regards me with the kind of expression he probably reserves for TV reporters. I remember the first time I met this man. It wasn't long after he took up the position. He'd had fewer grey hairs then, and was probably thinner than he is now. The room may not have changed much, but the man who works here certainly has. He looks so much younger in my memories.

'I _see_. Well, I can imagine you didn't go into this as well informed as I would've liked,' he sighs and runs a hand across his head. 'No doubt GUN told you _something_ of what they wanted to find out, however.'

I somehow manage to keep scathing from showing on my face. Not that there's anything in particular _wrong_ with the Guardian Unit of the Nations, but... well... They've never been prone to handing out information easily. 'They told me that they needed to investigate the personal and social connections between each of the subjects at hand,' I say, 'and that I was to pay particular attention to each subject's behaviour concerning Sonic the Hedgehog.' ...And saying that out loud will _never_ cease sounding completely bizarre.

'And you did as they requested?'

I nod. 'It wasn't difficult. Everyone I've spoken to over the last two days seemed to have something to say about him. Sonic, he's...' I search for just the right description.

'Popular?' The President suggests.

I smile. Yes, popular is just the right choice of word, now that I think about it. 'I suppose that's it sir, but more than that, they... appear to rally around him. He's a pointer with which they can all identify in some way and I imagine that most of them see him as a kind of connection to their own world. Even though it was Sonic's actions which caused them to become trapped here in the first place. You know about that already, don't you?'

'Yes, yes I do,' the president says. 'Seems their loss was our gain, eh? We've certainly benefitted from their presence in our city... we should consider ourselves fortunate.'

I remain quiet for a moment in light of this commentary. It seems to me as if the president is no more aware of what's going on here than I am. Or perhaps he's aware of everything he _wishes _to be aware of. _Plausible deniability _is a big part of democracy. 'This may be so, sir, but... this isn't their home.'

_Sympathy_, I realise. I'm feeling sympathy for them. Which isn't anything odd. When you get down to it, Sonic and his friends are just children trapped in a place farther from home than most humans travel in their lifetimes. I'm just not sure how to convey this sympathy to the man who signs my pay checks (or who pays for _someone else_ to sign them, anyway).

'No, they aren't,' the president says at last, 'I suppose all they really want right now is to get back to the place they came from. Unfortunately we have little say in that... You know they were accepted as citizens of our country, Doctor Crowley, and that's frankly all we can do for them until we understand more about them and their world... and about these Chaos Emeralds that Sonic is somehow capable of using.' He regards me for a long moment. 'My memory's shaky... tell me, how long have you worked for us, Doctor?'

'Seven years this September sir,' I answer promptly. I can remember the exact date, right down to the _second_ that I received the phone call (7:13:25 am, Sunday Morning, 25th of September 2001).

'And you've done some impressive work in that time. From what I've read at least. It's a little difficult to keep track of everyone and everything in this place, but I do know that there are few psychiatrists in my employ that I would trust to make judgements about such unique individuals with such little idea of _what_ they were trying to find out in the first place. Frankly, I suppose GUN wanted your analysis to be unbiased and so didn't provide you with very much information.'

'I... expect that's so, sir,' I answer, though I'm not entirely convinced that I believe it, plausible as the theory may be.

'I trust your judgement, Doctor,' the president says seriously. 'And I trust the faith that my secretary placed in you. Miss Cooper assured me that you would be ideal for this particular assignment. I trust the lack of information hasn't hindered your progress.'

'Of course not sir,' I let my pride slip just a little there. 'But still, it would've been more convenient if I had some idea of just what they _wanted_ to know. So far as I can tell all they really want is information on Sonic the Hedgehog with no exact reason as to why, or any explanations as to how it might help them _or_ Sonic in the future.'

'Yeah, that's just like those GUN Agents, huh?' a familiar, assured voice says out of nowhere. I can't help but jump, and when I turn around I see a bat-shaped silhouette standing below the window drapes nearby. 'Always so _sneaky_ about everything. They can never just _ask_ you for what they want outright, _can_ they Mister President?'

'Rouge, not _now_,' another irked voice comes from my other side. I look up to see same Agent from the cafeteria yesterday. The president rises from his seat, and I expect him to make some angry proclamation about how rude it is to barge into someone's office uninvited. However, he merely straightens his collar and, to my surprise, a smile spreads across his face.

'Ah. Agent Topaz; you and Rouge are back, I see. Anything in particular to report?'

'Nothing out of the ordinary sir,' Topaz says. She stands erect and firm, the very model of the ideal military agent. I can barely imagine her as the joking, casual young woman from the cafeteria. Rouge has no such qualms about military professionalism and a few seconds later she has perched herself on the edge of the president's desk. Topaz glimpses sideward at me and I try not to look as uneasy as I felt in her presence yesterday. 'We're just here to provide you with the direct reports you asked for.' She glimpses at me expectantly. 'Miss Cooper wasn't outside as usual and we weren't expecting you to be—'

'Having a heart to heart with the resident shrink.' Rouge interrupts.

'—Otherwise engaged,' Topaz corrects, sharply. If Rouge were closer, she probably would've elbowed her, or something.

'Of course. Ah, Doctor, this is Agent Topaz, GUN Field Agent, and I suppose, you already know Rouge.'

'We've met,' Topaz says quickly, before I can open my mouth to comment. 'Sir, we can come back a better time if you require. It's not urgent at this point.'

'Yes that... might be a wise course of action' the president glimpses at me. 'You're free to return to the field, Topaz.'

'What, no time for coffee breaks?' Rouge sounds disappointed.

'You're getting paid for this pretty handsomely, you know,' Topaz says, as dryly as I think she dares to in the presence of her superior. 'I think the coffee can wait.'

'Hmph. Well that's just typical,' Rouge looks as irked as I've ever seen anyone dare look in front of the president. 'And here I was thinking I could talk the good Doctor here into—'

'_Rouge_!'

'_What_? I was _only_ going to offer her a latte. Honestly, Topaz, I'm not interested in any of these silly reports. You have to do what has to be done, isn't that right Ella?'

She looks at me with the kind of knowing smile I never know how to respond to. I can see Topaz rolling her eyes on the other side of my chair. 'Then you'll have to catch up with the doctor for a girl talk some other time, won't you?' she says, and I swear I hear her muttering 'be darned if I'm letting you mess about with those files, Rouge...' under her breath.

'Guess so,' Rouge offers me another not-entirely-friendly smile. It's the kind of smile you know means something important_; I know about you_, her eyes seem to say. _You've got no real secrets from me_.

Then she leaves the room the same way she entered – silently and swiftly; in the time it takes me to blink an eyelid, in fact.

Topaz walks out more slowly, wary of her rank, and I hear Rouge calling to her from the corridor; something about old ladies and pacemakers. To Topaz's credit, she resists making a loud retort in the middle of the Presidential Chambers.

Looks like whatever it was they came to report, it wasn't something for the good Doctor's ears.

There is silence for a few moments, while I wait, shuffling uneasily and wondering whether I should wait to be dismissed, or dismiss myself. Then the president sighs and settles himself back in his chair. 'Sorry about that, Miss Elloise, but you know the government. Sometimes it feels as if there's a top secret file in every locked cabinet and a spy gadget hidden in every bowl of cereal.' He says evenly, and I'm so taken aback by the informal approach that it's all I can do to reply, even though I don't exactly understand.

'Um... yes sir.'

The president stays silent for a long moment, gazing straight past me towards the door. 'You know, before I came into office, someone told me that the task of the president's secretary and aides and the like were basically that of his conscience –they have to do all of the dirty work, allowing _him_ to be as honest and as decent as a president should be. Doesn't make a difference in the end, of course.'

He seems to be trying to judge my response to this. Luckily for me I'm quite good at disguising my own sentiments. 'You think the government is... underhanded, sir?'

The president shakes his head. 'Oh don't get me wrong, Eloise. If I didn't believe in the government I wouldn't be sitting here right now. I know things are done because they need to be done, but sometimes... Well... sometimes I have a little trouble working out what my own people are doing right under my nose. "The most powerful paper pusher in the world",' he smiles at me humourlessly, waving a pen in one hand. 'That's always been a decent descriptor of me. The bills are passed and I decide whether or not I want to sign them. I always do, of course, because it's easier that way. I keep thinking if I sign enough bills I might eventually get to do something that makes a genuine difference.'

'I...' I hesitate, wondering exactly what to say and how to say it. If I was hearing this from the couch in my office rather than from inside the President's White Room, I probably would've been making notes. But I'm not in my office now, and I don't feel very much like the psychiatrist I'm qualified to be. 'I... suppose that someone has to sign them sir.'

'Yes, I suppose that's true. But you are not that person, of course. What you do in your spare time... outside of your paid jurisitiction is of course entirely up to you, Doctor Crowley.'

'...Sir?'

The President coughs, wearing the expression of a man who is trying very hard not to lie and spinning a ballpoint pen between his fingers. 'I'm saying that if you wish to investigate further into anything you've uncovered –or haven't uncovered, as the case may be– then of course, that's your affair. Understanding that in normal circumstances, a lot of what goes on between you and your... patients should have nothing to do with the government. You – and they – have a right to privacy after all, don't you?'

I nod slowly, taking in what he said. It seems to me that the President has just warned me against poking my nose into areas where it honestly doesn't belong. Or maybe he's warning me that _not_ poking my nose in could have even more undesirable consequences. 'I understand sir.'

'Good, good,' the president takes the files I gave him and places them into the top drawer of his desk. 'Then why don't we pretend this conversation never happened? You're free to return to your duties, Doctor Crowley. I suppose I'll see you at the next psychological review this summer? Provided I haven't been kicked out of office by then, that is.'

He sounds as if he considers that a likelihood, rather than a possibility. I gather my remaining files and leave the room, a number of dignitaries striding through the door in my place no more than a moment later. I walk silently up the corridors and across the car park to the vehicle that will take me back to my own office. I'm thinking about humans and hedgehogs and presidents and other worlds and exactly what measure _is_ a non-human, anyway?

He's not the president I expected. And he's probably not the one I think I would've voted for, but still... he's doing what he can with what (surprisingly little) power the position affords him. And what's more, he's giving me the chance to do what _I_ can, too.

I've known worse people to sit in that chair. I was caught up in the Sunballs incident a few months ago just like everyone else, after all.

* * *

I'm running.

Someone is chasing me down a dark metal corridor, like those found in underground bases. This is where I think I am: in some kind of military station like Area 99 or Section 13, until the darkness is slit open by glass and I suddenly see windows and a striking view of planet earth far below me. I'm on a Spaceship. No, not a Spaceship –a Space _Station_, just like the one Chris thought of during Word Association and...

...Oh. Yes, that's right. _That's_ why I'm here.

I don't stop running when I see the earth hanging so very far below me. I'm too afraid to stop. If I stop they'll catch me, and then I won't be able to do what I'm here to do. I don't even know who "they" are exactly, and I have no desire to find out. So I keep running, never looking b even ack. My heels are clattering on the metal flooring, and every step is laboured even though I know I'm not at all tired.

When I find the room I'm looking for (and I don't even realise I'm looking until its right before me) the door opens to allow me entrance. I reached it. That's the most surprising thing: I actually reached it. They didn't catch me. They're still coming, certainly, but they haven't gotten me yet, and so long as that's true, they can never catch _her_ either. I bolt the metal doorway shut behind me before turning to look at the girl.

She's sitting on the bed and watching me. In her hands is a large globe, almost like the kind you might find in as geography classroom, except different. I know that globe. It belonged to my mother. A catalogue order she made when I was eight. Each country and continent is picked out with a different kind of smooth gemstone. I can name the ones Rouge mentioned to me and more besides: Topaz for Ireland, Japan picked out with cloudy quartz, a black Onyx Africa and a labradoriteocean. I used to imagine I was flying around the planet at the speed of my fingers across the gemstone surface.

The little girl regards me curiously, and then she smiles. 'Which one is the rarest?' she asks.

'...I'm sorry?'

'_Which of the countries, silly,'_ she laughs so faintly I can barely hear it. '_They're made with stones, aren't they? All different types of stone and rock, but their worth is different, isn't it?'_ she spins the globe gently once more in her hands. 'Which of the stones would be the most expensive if you cut it out and took it down to earth?'

I look down at the spinning orb before me, thinking. I know I asked that question myself many times when I was a child.

'That... depends.'

'_What does it depend on?'_

'On a lot of things.' I want to tell her more, but there's no time for that. They're still coming for us. For her. 'But... there's no time to talk about stones now. Come with me.'

The girl continues to gaze at the globe in her hands. Then she places it gently down on the bed besides her, still spinning it carefully with one hand. 'I always wanted to go to earth,' she says quietly._ 'Did you know that?'_

'Maybe... maybe you can. If you come with me, I can take you there myself.' Maybe she won't have any other choice. I can hear the footsteps of the soldiers (when did I realise that they were soldiers?) close behind me. I know it won't be long before they find the room and take her away. I can't let that happen. I _can't_.

'_Thank you. It's good of you to say so.'_

'What?' That doesn't make sense. 'Don't _thank_ me, just _follow_ me!' And I reach out to grab her hand, only to discover that pulling her to her feet is a lot harder than it should be. It's like she's glued to the spot, and no matter how much I pull I can't get her to follow.

'_I don't need to.' _

'Why not?'

The little girl stares at me curiously, as if wondering why the answer isn't so obvious that I shouldn't have to ask. _'This is my home. The only other place I _could_ go would be the planet. And I want to go there, believe me, I really do. It would be _wonderful_, to see it for real...' _

'So then? Let's go! You'll die anyway, so what difference does it make where?' I yell. And now I know that it's not me talking: I wouldn't use my words like that, and I wouldn't _yell_ at anyone, much less a child. Not even in a place and time like this. Not even when I can hear bullets smashing against steel walls somewhere in the distance.

My anger doesn't frighten her. I wonder whether anything in this world scares her anymore. _'That's true, Ella. But there's nothing you can do about it either way.' _

I stop trying to move, still holding onto her hand, though I can't feel it in my grip –it's ethereal, I guess. It only exists while I'm looking. She lives only when my eyes are turned to her. She's only in my mind.

'_I'm dreaming_,' I think, and I know in my heart that this is so. The girl's nod confirms it. I'm dreaming, and what's more, it's the very same dream I had last night.

A part of me doesn't want to be dreaming. It's beautiful here and she is so young and gentle and...

She doesn't deserve what's coming. No. Not what's _coming_. What's already _been_. I can hear gunshot ricocheting against steel plated corridors. Old memories of events I never actually witnessed, conjured up by my imagination.

Above us there are only stars viewed through a clear glass ceiling, but the stars are spinning and twisting too, along with the movement of the globe beneath her fingers. She smiles and knows that she is dying. She's happy here, but she could be happier. I know that, because I see it in her eyes: this longing buried so deep down that sometimes she's barely aware of it.

Somewhere in this great metal building there is the sound of something breaking, gunfire and exploding glass. I imagine one of those great windows bursting open and spilling air out into cold space.

I lift my head to look at the girl again, but she isn't there anymore. At first I don't realise this. I'm only looking at the eyes, and the eyes are just the same as the girl's had been. Except that aren't her eyes at all; they're his.

'Christopher?'

...Have you ever had one of those moments in a dream where you might swear to god you're not alone? You see someone you know in real life, and they seem so truly real and there that you could talk to them about it when you wake: continue and complete a conversation that you started while you were dreaming. That was what I felt right now. As if he was _real_. Actually tangibly there, inside the very same dream I was having.

_'Doctor Crowley?'_

The boy blinks as if he didn't expect to see me here; something... changes. I'm afraid again, just as I was running down the metal corridor far above the earth. Because the little girl is just a face in a photograph; a pretty, harmless memory in the death sentence of a bitter old man who wanted to destroy us. I understand now why people killed and died for her, but I didn't _know_ her.

I know Chris.

'Oh god, not you too...' I mutter, and... I'm not sure why I say it or what it is that I understand in the dream which I don't in reality, but it seems as if he does, because he squeezes my hand.

'_Hey, don't think _I'm_ the only one involved. You shouldn't be here, Ella, neither of us should.'_ he says to me urgently. And he sounds so... knowledgeable. Knowledgeable and unmoved in a way that no twelve year old should ever be. In a way that I know he _isn't_; not in real life. I understand that much. '_Come on_!'

And now I'm not running anymore –merely following. He's leading me along and clutching my hand as tightly as he can. The room I was in before has gone and I'm back in the corridors that lead there in the first place but now they are silent. There is no sign of whatever was chasing me before.

'Where are we going?'

'_To find him, of course. That's what all the others are doing. That's why they're all here.' _

To find who, exactly? I wonder. Sonic? The little girl? These are the questions I am considering, but the one I actually speak aloud is: 'How do you know that?'

'_Because _everyone's_ looking for him,_' Chris says, obviously. '_The government, Eggman, _us_... They think if they find him they can get the things they're looking for_.'

I stop walking. He lets go of my hand and looks at me. I see him very clearly, despite the darkness of the corridor around us. 'What...what are you talking about?'

Chris thinks about it for a moment, the shrugs. _'Sorry, but... Don't ask me, doctor. You'd know better than I would.' _

I don't understand.

I don't understand any of this. Or at least, I don't think I do. Chris takes my hand and starts walking again, and I follow him because there's really nothing else I can do. We're walking towards a doorway. I think I must have run through it on my way to the young girl's room, but there's no saying that it's the same door now. I know how dreams work: even lucid ones. Things are never in the same place twice.

Except that, in this instance, they are. We stop in front of it and only now do I see how truly huge it is: no handles or keys are visible; our presence should be enough to open it.

Chris gives me a gentle push.

I shouldn't be afraid of it. I _shouldn't_. '...Come with me?'

'_Sorry, I can't.'_

'Like _she_ couldn't, you mean?'

Chris shuffles, seeming suddenly very much like the nervous boy he was inside my office. '_Something like that_._ It's complicated._'

I remain looking at him for as long as I can because I know the moment I take my eyes of him, he'll disappear. Dream people are like that. They're never around when you need them to be and always there when you want them to go away.

I take another step in the direction of the metal wall. The door opens with a violent gust of wind that nearly knocks me off my feet.

And there before me is the globe of stone. Only bigger. Huge and hanging before me like the real earth seen from high above or far below. _My_ earth. It _is_ my earth, isn't it? Or maybe it's supposed by some other world, carved out of stones and made to look exactly _like_ my own. Whatever it is, there has to be some reason why it's there. Why it appeared to me like this in a dream about a place I've never been before. I can't think what those reasons are, though; I'm too wrapped up in its sight and presence. I remember the games I played as a child –running my fingers across the stone earth's surface and imagining that I was running. Like a high speed bullet. Like a god. Or a hero.

Except that I'm nobody's hero.

No. I'm not a hero at all. I know who _is_. I know who Chris and the government and everyone is looking for. I know why Chris is here, just like I know why he's in all the videos. I know why they killed that little girl. I know what they want from Sonic. I think I might even know _why_. For just one brief instant, everything seems to make sense to me in a way it never has before.

And then I wake up.

There's a big problem involved with dreams: after a little while we stop being able to remember them. Just like yesterday night, my one moment of clear understanding has passed and vanished by the time I reach the kitchen and begin pouring a glass of water.


	11. Topaz

**Many apologies for the long delay in getting this chapter up. I kind of got submersed in "Chaos Mythologies" for a while and had to work out a few kinks. Rest assured, this story will continue.**

**Standard disclaimers apply and reviews and concrit are thoroughly appreciated. **

* * *

Topaz. 

"THE OUT OF TOWN DINER"

7:30PM

NO CAMERAS. NO RECORDING EQUIPTMENT. NO CELL PHONES.

That's all the message says.

There's no signature, markings or any other indication of who left it, but I think I can hazard a pretty good guess. After all, my office is just as secure as any other room in this building. The note could only have been left here by someone capable of getting into a secure government facility with three checkpoints, deactivating several security cameras in the process and leaving again completely unnoticed. This kind of feat could only be accomplished by someone with a government pass-card and a key to my office, or else a very accomplished Cat-burglar.

Or should I say, _Bat-burglar_?

Not to mention that all the "I"'s are dotted with love hearts.

I stand there for a long moment, just staring at the piece of paper lying on my chair. It feels like something out of one of those old movies from before cell phones were invented and Hollywood decided that anonymous phone calls from men with creaky voices were more dramatic than hastily scribbled notes.

I doubt that whoever left it here broke into my office to steal anything, but I check my drawers and filing cabinets anyway. Everything looks to be in order, right down to the old patient files from almost a decade ago. As an afterthought I check my security cameras: they've been turned off, but none of them are broken. Whoever has been in here probably knew that breakages would've left too much evidence.

The out of town diner. Seven thirty pm. Damn it. That place has coffee like bath water and cookies that could rival concrete roads Couldn't they have chosen a better restaurant?

I sit down and try my hardest to continue doing what I've been doing for the days now: thinking. It's been three days since the Galaxy X interviews began and ended. Three days since I got pulled into this mess, with no idea of what I was getting myself into at the time. I've already cleared all of the Galaxy X subjects, and I'm expecting both Knuckles and Christopher Thorndyke back at a later date for a general appointment.

Asides from that I don't see any reason why this should continue. And yet the whispers continue in the corridors and the phone calls continue teasing my phone line as ridiculous hours of the night. I don't see what the Government (or GUN) are looking for. I don't see where my continued interest in this affair (and the Presidents subtle suggestion that I investigate things further) is going to take me.

But then, I've never been the kind of person who can leave a mystery unsolved. I believe Rouge knows that.

...And there _is_ a mystery here, isn't there? A secret something hovering just under the surface, where even the president isn't aware of it. I've even been dreaming about it.

I carefully pick up the note and crumple it in my fist, resolving to burn it during my break. Its times like this I wish I still smoked. I could use a lighter right now (for that matter I could use a damn cigarette).

I open my diary and try to concentrate. I don't have anywhere else to be until at least seven-thirty, and I have twelve patients, three case studies and four cups of coffee to get through before then.

* * *

'This is a bad idea.'

Topaz adjusts her earphone and resists the urge to scratch at her collar (the polo neck is itching like crazy: its pastel yellow in colour and it's absolutely _not_ her style, but that's really the idea. Comfort comes second to anonymity this evening, even if that means wearing itchy wool in the middle of summer and sunglasses indoors). She can practically _feel_ Rouge smiling at the other end of the radio. _'Sure it is.'_

'You _say_ that,' Topaz mutters. 'But I know you're not taking me seriously, Rouge, so I'll say it again for your benefit: This is a _bad_ idea.'

'_Topaz, honey, do I need to remind you that it was _your_ idea in the first place?' _

'No it wasn't, my idea was that we should lie low and play it safe,' Topaz muttered. 'And that we should quietly and discreetly try to get information from higher up the political ladder. Breaking into someone's office and leaving messages is _not_ quiet or discreet.'

'_Sure it is: I didn't even break her window going in. And we _are_ playing it safe, Topaz. With her on our side we're looking at ever increased security from prying eyes.' _

Topaz can't argue with that. She toys with the froth atop her latte (at least it was probably _supposed_ to be latte), wondering whether she should've gone with espresso. It's been a long day; right now she should be at home, curled up on the sofa watching old movies and hoping the phone doesn't ring. 'Well, maybe I'm starting to have second thoughts about that,' she muttered. 'For all we know our superiors already have her right in their pocket.'

'_I wouldn't worry too much about that. I don't figure she's in anybody's pocket; not yet, anyway.' _

'How can you be sure? I mean the lady has access to the personal information of everyone in the government: from the janitor to the president.'

'_Because she's loyal,_' Rouge says, in that tone of voice she sometimes uses when identifying priceless gems, or making a point about one of the Eggman's robots: it's a voice that Topaz pays attention to, because it means that Rouge is actually being serious for once._ 'Or at least, that's the air I got when she was _studying_ me. She's proud of her job and the respect it commands, but she's not like that Wise-guy who got himself fired for it, whatever other faults she may have. They won't have let her in on this because they can't trust her to keep quiet about it.'_

'Then how do _we_ know we can trust here?' Topaz muttered.

'_For exactly the reasons I just mentioned of course. Just make sure she doesn't start thinking _we're_ the bad guys. With connections like those, Topaz, whose side would you rather she was on?' _

'Since when were you on anyone's side but...' Topaz cuts herself off, clenching a hand around her polo neck.

'_But myself? You can say it, Topaz. I've no problems with who I am.' _

'Alright then... Since when?'

'_Since I started working with you,' _Rouge answers simply, and Topaz isn't quite sure what to make of that, or how to respond.

She is saved from having to respond at all when she sees the Diner door opening and a familiar figure entering the room, glimpsing left and right conspicuously as they do so. Topaz straights up. 'Looks like we've got company.'

'_Crowley?' _

Topaz lowers her sunglasses and watches their target for a moment longer. 'Dark hair, at least partly Asian, green suit... looks like her. Also? She's got her hair in a French Plait and is wearing red heels.'

Rouge sighs down the phone line. '_Urgh, well I think it's safe to say that she's not in on anything. Nobody serious about being undercover would show up to a _Luckymeal Diner _in such a conspicuous uniform... Not to mention such an obvious fashion disaster_.'

It kind of makes sense... in Rouge's language anyway, Topaz winces as the Doctor looks left and right in a way which would instantly alert anyone watching to something being up. The only other people in the diner right now are an arguing young couple and an old man with his grandson, but you can never be too careful. 'Damn... you don't think she'll blow our cover, do you?'

'_Too late to back out now either way, Topaz.'_

Topaz sighs, sitting upright and willing the doctor to look in their direction. She does, after about half a minute and, to her credit, manage to sidle over to them rather unnoticeably.

'...Hi. Its Miss Stone, isn't it? We both work in the same... office?'

'Doctor Crowley,' Topaz put on her most convincing this-was-totally-not-staged expression. 'Fancy seeing you way out here. Out on a road trip?'

The doctor shuffles. 'Something like that. But I'm not sure if it was worth stopping here, to be honest. It doesn't look especially healthy.'

'Well we can find out for ya,' Topaz pushed her latte cup away. 'You hungry? It's on me.'

'Oh... thank you. Um... Do they do onion rings?' she looks a little embarrassed asking and offers Topaz a shrug. 'I like them. Besides it's about the only thing they I imagine is edible here.'

'Oh I don't know... the _coffee _is just about chewable,' Topaz smirks. 'And you can call me Topaz, by the way. We're not in the _office_ now.'

A smile twitches across Doctor Crowley's face. 'Ella.'

* * *

Topaz Stone is apparently the kind of woman who can command a waitress's attention with a click of her fingers. She's also the kind of person who can down three lattes in one go without stopping, which is pretty impressive, especially considering how damned awful the latte _is_ here. The onion rings aren't much better –it's like chewing on heated rubber– but I eat them anyway.

'You look like you could use a little sleep, doc.'

This feels like idle conversation and I'm not really in the mood, but I guess she needs to hold her cover so I respond. 'Mm. It's these _dreams_ I keep having. I can never remember them afterwards, but they're all still weighing down on me, like I'm suffocating.'

'I used to dream like that when I first started working for Tac,' Topaz shrugs. 'Especially the night before big raids. Kind of funny, really: you'd think we'd have bad dreams _afterwards_, not before.'

'It's all psychological. Most people aren't as afraid of reality as they are of things they can't see.'

'Somehow I expected a Doctor of Psychology to say something like that,' Topaz smirks; then she speaks again, with a lowered voice. 'I guess you wanna know why you're here.'

'Yes, I think the facade has been built up enough. Not to mention the suspense.' I say. The old man and his kid are getting up to leave, and the teenagers who were bickering just a few minutes ago have gone.

'Yeah, getting a little tedious, isn't it?' Topaz says. Then, after a pause, she goes on. 'I'm here to talk about the G. U. N in case you hadn't already guessed. And about that hedgehog we both happen to know.'

'Sonic. They're interested in him, aren't they?' I say. I I can't keep myself from sounding eager.

'More than _interested_. It was my superiors who set this whole thing up in the first place: the interviews you've been doing, the studies... the resultant papers... And it's not just you. They've had the physical doctors in on it too. _And_ the field officers. It all comes back to GUN in the end. They're doing everything they can to dig up every possible scrap of information that they can on Sonic the Hedgehog.'

'Why?'

'Beats me,' Topaz shrugs.

'But you said you had information. If GUN are the ones who had me running those interviews in the first place, then... surely you know what's going on here?'

It's not that simple,' Topaz says. 'One thing I do know? Is that GUN splits off into more separate divisions and branches than you can shake a rifle at. There's at least one GUN-connected employee in every area of the Government that deals with important affairs, from the medics to the security branches.'

'You mean you have undercover divisions?'

'Well, yeah. Some undercover, some public. You probably know about all that. You work in the same place, after all.' Topaz sips her coffee. 'There's us, of course: the Tactical Division: we're pretty common knowledge, for government personnel, anyway. And there are the security guards, and the diplomacy teams. And then there are the head GUN officials... Those are the guys who are over even the president's head.'

I remember what the president said to me in his office the other day; about feeling as if he didn't know what was going on in his own government, and In can fully believe what Miss Topaz is telling me. '...Fascinating as this is, Miss Topaz, I don't see what it has to do with Sonic the hedgehog.

'It has everything to do with him,' Topaz smiles vaguely. She reaches up to tap a waitress's wrist as she passes. 'Excuse me but could I get another latte here, please?' The waitress gazes at her, bemused for a moment (probably wondering how one woman can handle such a caffeine intake) but she nods and goes back to the register.

Now satisfied that we're completely alone, Topaz leans closer. 'The fact is, Doctor, despite all the men we have and all the areas we're worked into, GUN doesn't know everything. Hell, look at me: I'm a member of GUN myself and even I had to dig out half of the information I have now surreptitiously. There are a few people here in command of some kind of big operation, I figure; and nobody is wondering about it or asking questions, because it's quite common for the right hand not to know what the left hand is doing.'

I blink. 'Uh... sorry?'

'I mean that Secret Operations are the norm for people in GUN: it's in our job description. We're _supposed_ to be secretive –albeit in a very obvious way. So there aren't many people who are confused here. Nor are there many people who are curious as to exactly _why_ GUN wants so much information about our resident blue hero... I _am_ curious. Especially because two people connected to GUN in the technology and the biological studies section have _gone on vacation_ in the last two weeks without leaving a contact address, and because all of a sudden half the department won't talk to me straight whenever the Other World comes up in conversation: as you can imagine it does often, what with me having a _talking bat_ for a partner. In short: something is going _on_ in my department, Ella, and I don't like it. It doesn't feel safe to me.'

Her description of "missing persons" has caught my attention. All of a sudden this whole thing seems quite intimidating. 'And Rouge? Is she curious, too?'

'Yes. So much ass she's ever curious about anything which doesn't have a carat rating, anyway. Topaz takes a swig of her coffee. 'This is why I wanted to talk to you, Doctor. Because so far you're the only person in the government asides from me and Rouge who has had any extended interaction with Sonic and the others. If they want information about his psychology then they're going to come to you.

'In other words, you want me on your side,' I say, finally working out exactly why I'm here. Topaz has discovered that something is up, and she wants to know that I'm not a part of it. 'Topaz, I can assure you that whatever your superiors are after I'm not anything to do with it.'

'Yeah, Rogue thought you'd say that,' Topaz smiles vaguely. 'But we wanted to be sure.'

I take yet another deep breath, steadying myself with the knowledge that I've probably just gotten involved with something far bigger than my office with its regular coffee breaks and standardized procedures. 'What do you want me to do?'

'Keep your eyes and ears open,' Topaz says, with half a shrug. 'Let us know if any of my superiors come your way and ask about Sonic. See what you can find about these missing people without looking too conspicuous. If you get any information you feel is relevant then you take it to us first. Even before the president. _Or_ you can take it to Professor Thorndyke,' she adds, and I recognize the name as belonging to the grandfather of the boy I had in my office the other day. 'We'll be paying him a visit soon enough and telling him just what we told you.'

'And how do I know I can trust _you_, Miss Stone?'

Topaz doesn't seem sure how to answer this for a second. It's as if gaining _my_ trust as opposed to the other way around wasn't something she considered. Which actually feels kind of silly... In all this talk about information and who holds the cards; I'd forgotten that I'm her superior in many ways. 'The only thing I can really say to that is that I know Rouge,' Topaz says. 'And I know she can seem a little... well... batty but her species s of no consequence to me. Whatever effects Sonic the hedgehog may by default affect her and I don't want that to affect our... partnership. Call this extending the olive branch. Whatever is going on in my department, I don't want to be lumped in with them.'

That makes sense to me, as much as it can. I nod slowly. '...Anyway there are some other files for you about the missing people and some of the GUN higher operatives we've been suspecting. You'll find them under the planter on your balcony when you get back to your apartment.'

I suspect that Rouge has something to do with that, and the look on Topaz's face confirms it. She pauses for a moment, and I wonder whether this signals the end of our conversation. Then just as I'm preparing to go pay, she speaks again. 'Doctor Crowley, do you remember when Sonic first arrived in this world? All the fuss there was about him and his companions... and the way everyone was talking?

'I remember that he took over three news channels.'

'That too. And some people thought that he had to be a machine, didn't they?' Topaz says. Heck, that sounded logical to me too, at first: to us there seemed to be no way that a living creature could possess the kind of skills he did. He _had_ to be a machine, or a robot or something. That's how powerful he is, Ella,' Topaz looks at me firmly. 'He's a flesh and blood being who is faster, more alert and more developed than any human created machine. He's an alien who's beyond our accomplishment and when he first got here, all we could do was theorise and wonder and stick his friends under big microscopes, just trying to work out what they were. Is it any wonder that GUN would be interested in something like that?'

I think about this as best I can (to be honest, entertaining thoughts about Sonic's capabilities tends to throw me for a loop). '...No, it's not,' I say, and then I take my leave of her, pushing the onion ring tray away from me and digging for my purse. Topaz holds up a hand to stop me.

'Forget it. Like I said, it's on me. Enjoy your road trip, Ella.'

I get the feeling, as soon as I leave the diner and head back to the car park, that I've just gained a lot more questions about this than I have answers.

* * *

'_Well that went down far better than I'd anticipated.' _

'I assume you're referring to the meeting and not the coffee this place dishes out, because _that_ went down like lumpy gravy.'

'_And yet you _still_ managed to swallow five containers of the stuff.' _

'What? How can you even tell from there? Sheesh... Anyway whatever's going on I think we can be pretty sure she's not involved with it. Or she _wasn't_ until now, anyway.'

'_We've probably totally thrown off her schedule.'_

'No kidding. But still, you were right: I'd rather have her with us than against us, and she seems harmless enough, considering her occupation. So then?'

'_So then what?'_

'Don't play coy. Enlighten me to the complex workings of the brain of a jewel obsessed bat burglar, Rouge: What do you think of her?'

'_Like I said earlier, Topaz, I think she's trustworthy enough. She always _was_. I just hope that it's _us_ she decides to end up trusting.' _

'Hm.'

'_I also think she has really bad taste in shoes.' _

'Oh _Rouge_...'

'_Well, you _did_ ask about the complex workings of my brain. Now are we going to pay a visit to the Thorndyke's place sometime before midnight? I have an appointment with that pretty little jewellers store on South Road Street and I don't want to be late.' _

'You'd better be joking.'

'_Tsk. Of _course_ I am. The store displays on the West side are a lot better.'_

'Ha _ha_.'

* * *


	12. Robotnik

**You know the drill, of course: standard disclaimers apply. Thank you very much for all the reviews in the past – I've been having some difficulty responding to them of late but they're still very much appreciated, and more would not be turned away. Hope you enjoy the chapter, because this is where I really start taking some risks. You'll see why when you get there. **

* * *

Robotnik. 

'...Hey, Chris?'

'Yeah, Sonic?'

'Did you put that camera in the yard?'

Chris looks up from his geography homework (heck if he knows what the capital of Lithuania is, anyway), blinking in surprise. 'What?'

'The camera. In the yard. Did you put it there?'

'Camera in the Yard?' This one is news to Chris.

'Is there an echo in here? Seriously. There's a _camera_ outside, an' I don't remember it being there before.'

'Don't you mean our security system out front? Those have been there forever, except for that time when Tails had to dismantle one of them for—'

'Nah, I mean the one hidden under those bushes at the back of the place where you park the cars an' jets an' stuff. What's the deal with that?'

Chris has to think about this for a moment. It's not odd for him to find a new camera that he'd forgotten about somewhere in the grounds whenever dad is feeling a little security conscious, but he and Grandpa were usually _informed_ about them and where they were going to be installed beforehand. He hadn't heard anything about there being a new one _there_. 'You're sure?'

'Sure I'm sure. Hold on a sec—' Sonic disappears, Chris counts to three in his head and then Sonic is back again, holding something large and black in both hands. 'See? Camera.'

Sonic holds the object towards him. There's no doubt about it. Its round, strangely light and covered in weird patterns, but it's definitely a video camera. And an expensive one, at that.

'This was in the _yard_?'

'Yup, like I said, it was hidden under the bushes, half buried in the soil. I must've run past it a hundred times without noticing. You mean you don't know anything about it?'

'No...' Chris turns the "camera" over and over in his hands. It's not like any recording machine he's ever seen before. There's no insignia or serial code, and he's fairly sure his father's company doesn't make anything quite like it.

Grandpa chooses that exact moment to enter the room, though, which provides Chris with the perfect person to ask about it. 'Ah, _there_ you are, Chris. I need to have a word with you: I understand that helping to save the world on a daily basis is a disruptive business, but would it kill you to not leave your bike in the same place as the X-Tornado? I expect to walk into the lab and see a giant airplane staring at me but I don't expect to be tripping over a twelve year old's bicycle.'

'Oh, yeah, sorry... Grandpa, do you know anything about this?'

Grandpa pauses before reaching out to take the camera. 'Is that a video camera?'

'Yeah, Sonic says he found it hidden in the yard. You didn't put it there, did you?'

'No, I've never seen it before...' Grandpa turns the camera over. 'In fact, I don't think I've _ever_ seen one like this –full stop; and I'm sure Tails wouldn't be sticking hidden cameras around the place.'

'Yeah, I've never seen one like that before either,' Sonic shrugs. 'So who do you think left it there, Chuck?'

'Yeah, and what's with the flashing red light and the beep—' Chris cuts off suddenly as it dawns on him _exactly_ what the flashing red light and the beeping sound could mean. Grandpa seems to have realised the same thing, because his eyes widen and he holds the camera as far away from his body as possible. The beeping sound begins to quicken and the flashing becomes more of a constant glare.

'Uh-oh, Sonic!'

'Way ahead of ya!' Sonic grabs the camera out of grandpa's hands and vanishes out of the window. Chris waits for one long moment before there is the sound of a single, screeching tone which cuts off abruptly into a small explosion.

Sonic returns a couple of seconds later. He's brushing nonexistence dust off his fur and is probably just fine, but Chris can't help asking anyway. 'Sonic? You okay?'

Sonic shrugs, smiling in a way which Chris doesn't think _anyone_ should after handling an explosive device. 'Yeah, I'm cool. Whoever paid for the exploding video camera needs to get a refund, though. That blast didn't even singe my fur.'

'I don't think it was _supposed_ to singe anything.' Grandpa mutters. 'Except for its contents that is. That's what we call destroying the evidence.'

'Where'd it come from, grandpa?' Chris asks.

'I don't know, but whoever it was, they clearly didn't want us finding out,' Grandpa has his arms folded and a serious look on his face: the same look which Chris usually associates with situations that are about to get very complicated and technical very quickly (and will probably involve explosives).

'...You know, I think I might run around the grounds a few times,' Sonic says. 'See if I can dig out anymore of them.'

Grandpa seems to flinch. 'Oh, no, I... don't think that'll be necessary, Sonic,' he says, suddenly speaking just a little too loudly. 'This is probably just some tabloid reporter trying to grab some celebrity gossip for a weekly magazine. It's happened a few times before, right Chris?' the way that grandpa winks at him tells Chris that it's probably better for him _not_ to answer "No".

'Oh... um. Yeah, once or twice,' Chris mumbles. 'Newspapers, you know? They can be really intrusive, sometimes.'

Sonic can probably tell that he's lying (though Chris has no idea what about), but just raises an eyebrow. 'They can, huh?'

'Certainly,' Grandpa is giving Sonic the same "just play along" expression that he's giving Chris. 'We'll just have to report _another_ attempted illegal filming on the grounds again. Why I bet if the Station Square Police Department had a nickel for every complaint they got from us about invasions of privacy, they could afford to refurbish the station by now. Just leave it; there'll probably be no further bother.'

A look of slow realisation dawns on Sonic's face. 'Ohh. Yeah, guess I'd know all about that. So... I'm gonna go running now. Around the grounds, you know? Just... for no reason whatsoever. Catch ya later.'

And then Sonic is gone, leaving Chris standing there, mouth half open in the beginning of a question he never has the chance to ask. He looks up at his grandfather expectantly but Chuck continues to offer no explanation. He just nods towards the table. 'You'd better get on with that homework, Chris. The capital cities of the world won't locate and identify themselves, you know.'

Chris nods, sitting back at the table and staring in vain at the map in his textbook. All of a sudden, locating the capital of Lithuania seems even less interesting than it had a few minutes ago.

* * *

I find the files and a notebook hidden exactly where Rouge told me they would be. There are a few more under the cushions in my lounge, too. I get the impression that Rouge just _enjoys_ breaking into places for the sheer thrill of it, whether or not she actually has to.

I usually try to keep my work and private lives entirely separate from each other. I never work at home, and I never let my home life infiltrate my office. Heck, I don't even keep family photographs on my work desk. I find it a lot easier if I keep my two lives apart like that. It's just the way I do things. Now, however, it looks as if I'm going to be pulling a night shift at home.

There are more files than I care to count. Reports from Space Colony ARK, both fifty years old and modern day, articles on the _Ultimate Lifeform Project_ carried out by Gerald Robotnik in the early fifties, lists of associated names, researchers into the development of portal technology, and the currently employee roster for all non secret-agent members of GUN. Topaz has even managed to sneak me copies of my own Psychological Reports _after_ they've been edited and added to by someone else in GUN. It's quite... bizarre seeing my own work scribbled on and annotated like this. I'm not sure I like it. There's an awful lot of information in Cream's file which has been crossed out with thick, black marker (including the bit I put about referring her to Child-Specific psychologist), and whoever edited my report doesn't even seen to _care_ about half the stuff I wrote for Amy... And as for Chris's report...

...Well, I know that he isn't a Galaxy X subject himself, but I'd thought that interviewing him as someone who was close to Sonic and the others was at least good idea. Yet most of the copy of his report I hold now is completely crossed out and labelled as "irrelevant". The only part they _haven't_ scored through is my section on "_Suggested Action_".

I guess this confirms at least one of my suspicions: GUN isn't interested in the Galaxy X aliens as _people_. It certainly doesn't care about their psychological wellbeing.

I flick through the papers slowly, drinking in what I'm seeing: there are _decades'_ worth of government secrets currently lying in my lap. Things that even I, the head psychologist for the President himself, don't (shouldn't) know about. That would probably bother me if I wasn't too wrapped up to waste time on worry right now.

It doesn't take me long to identify the two "missing persons" that Topaz told me about. Their personal files from when they joined the Government are right here, too. Kai Narasu –a onetime researcher of biology at the government laboratories, and Malcolm Torn –the current head of the Covert Lateral International Program. C.L.I.P.

I pause for a moment. I know that acronym. Pretty much everyone in the government does. It's kind of a Disclosed Secret –everybody _knows_ about it, but nobody has any idea what it's all about. The _Covert Lateral International Program _employees (and I use the term "employee" very loosely) are the underdogs for the Guardian Unit of the Nations. They're a department made up entirely of secret agents, high ranking politicians and ex-military personnel. To put it bluntly, Rouge would probably describe them as "_the dirty minds that do the government's dirtiest work_." They go way over Agent Topaz's head. They go way over _my_ head. They report to no one but the president, and no member of the public knows that they exist.

And their current Head of Department? Is General Malcolm Torn.

...Now isn't _that_ a big surprise?

So, I now know that the people in CLIP are the ones demanding information on the Galaxy X subjects. I also know that they're gathering as much information as they can on Sonic the Hedgehog, and going right over the government in order to do so...

But what I still can't work out is _why_. I have the feeling that has nothing to do with interest in other worlds' or simple scientific curiosities like that. CLIP clearly doesn't _care_ about Sonic the Hedgehog or any of his friends or enemies. So what do they _want_ from them?

I stop for a minute to clear my head. I want to grab a cup of coffee, but I can't focus. The percolator seems to take forever to boil and within seconds, I lose interest in it and return to the files. As I'm sitting down again I disrupt another sheet of paper, and it draws my attention: It's a family tree, a highly detailed one at that, if about fifty years out of date. The family tree of the Robotnik line, beginning way back in the mid eighteen hundreds and ending in the mid fifties with Maria Robotnik. I let my eyes trail over the paper, absently searching for some useful information. If the family tree is here then it _must_ have been given to me for a reason.

And then I notice something at the very bottom of the chart –a name that I don't recognize.

'Gloria Robotnik...' I read out loud, 'Date of Birth: January the seventeenth, nineteen forty two... Parents: Edward and Mildred Robotnik. Next of Kin... Maria.'

Maria Robotnik had an older sister.

This information hasn't appeared in any of the other files or documents I've been given. I pause for a second, thinking; I know that this information is important, but I'm not quite able to place a finger on _why_.

Now that I think about it, that's something I never really understood –Maria Robotnik surely had family besides her Grandfather, It was logical to assume that they lived normal lives on earth while Maria and her grandfather resided on the Colony. And now they had names... Daniel, Mildred... and Gloria.

And of course, Gloria and Maria had a cousin: this is the information which stunned me the most when I first discovered it: The fact that the so-called "Doctor Eggman" wasn't an alien like Sonic and the others, but was in fact the grandson of Gerald Robotnik. His real name is _Ivo_ _Robotnik_. His parents are listed here too, under the names Jeremiah and Sophie.

I wonder whether he knows (or even cares) about their existence... Did he know why they sent him to the other world all those years ago? Why _had_ he been sent there in the first place? And what happened to _them_ afterwards? He must have been very young –not much older than an infant– when it happened.

I sigh. Now I could _really_ use a coffee. It seems like I'm getting further and further away from my original point, rather than closer to it. The more I discover the more questions I turn up. I don't see what Agent Topaz expects me to find. Fat lot of good my psychology degree is doing me now.

And what about Gloria? And this unexpected relation to Maria Robotnik... one I don't think anyone other than a few key members of CLIP knew about...

There's no more information on the family tree after that interesting titbit. I can see where Gerald Robotnik connects to Doctor Eggman and Maria Robotnik and her family, but that's where it stops. And I'm not getting anything else from the rest of the pile, or the notebook.

I guess I'll just give up for tonight and take these files into the office with me tomorrow. It's a half work day for me, so I can spend the whole afternoon puzzling over them in the comfort of my workplace, where my work is actually _supposed_ to happen. It probably wouldn't be safe to leave such precious information here...

* * *

Grandpa begins their unexpected family meeting that evening (which everyone was told about by way of passing notes) with a total search of the room they're in – Tails, at the top of the building. He doesn't explain _why_ they're doing this –just brandishes a piece of paper at them all which has: "_search the room, tell me if you see anything suspicious; keep quiet_" written on it.

So that's what everyone does –with rather confused looks on their faces. Including Mr Tanaka and Ella. They root through boxes and cupboards and laundry baskets, peer between the floorboards, check the rooftop, look under the bed and just about everywhere else that something could possibly be hidden. Sonic even runs around the grounds a few times checking outside of the room.

Chris knows that there are no prizes for guessing what they're looking for, and he also figures that he already knows what this meeting is going to be about.

After they've been searching for about fifteen minutes, Sonic returns and grandpa looks at him expectantly. Sonic uneasily holds up both his hands with seven fingers in the air. Grandpa gulps.

'So, we're satisfied that we've found nothing in here, at least?' he asks, eventually. There is a chorus of "yes's" and "I think so's" and a "what is this about anyway?" courtesy of Amy. 'Good,' Grandpa 

sighs and looks genuinely relieved. Then, finally happy that he can speak freely, he sits everybody down and tells them what Chris has already guessed.

Amy is (understandably) disturbed. As is pretty much everyone else.

'Well I think it's just awful!' she snaps, brandishing her hammer in a way which makes Chris really glad that _he_ isn't the one who's been leaving video cameras all over their house. 'Not to mention icky and disgusting! I can't believe that anyone would be so damn rude and... And intrusive!

'I have to say that agree with Miss Amy,' Mr Tanaka says, adopting that tone he always uses when he feels it's time to defend his employee's honour. 'This is a deceitful and underhanded act which should be dealt with swiftly.'

Ella sighs, shaking her head. 'Mr Tanaka, you always were one for dramatics, dearie, but you make a good point, no? This is a worrying situation; Goodness only knows what that an awful Eggman is planning this time.'

'Unfortunately, I don't think we can just pin the blame on Eggman this time,' Grandpa says.

'Grandpa's right,' Tails shakes his head. 'This doesn't seem like Eggman's style to me.'

'Well can't we find out _whose_ style it is?' Amy asks impatiently. 'I don't want people watching me all the time! There's gotta be a law against this, Chuck!'

'There is a law against it, Amy,' Chris says (his mother and father told him _all_ about what people are and aren't legally allowed to do with cameras when he was five years old) 'but I don't think these guys care about that too much. So wait we've found... how many cameras now?'

'Seven. Eight, if you count the one we found in the front yard this morning,' Sonic says as he gets comfortable in his hammock. 'Most of them were outside, but there was one in the garage pointed at the X Tornado too.'

'The X Tornado?' Tails looks worried. 'But it's designs are secret! Nobody but me and Grandpa Chuck know how it works!'

'Relax, buddy, I kinda doubt they learned anything useful –whoever they are. I left all the video cameras l found up, though. You think I outgha go and take them down yet?'

'Of course you should take them down!' Amy yells. 'Do you _want _to get filmed by a bunch of total strangers?'

'Well, no, but gramps told me not to disturb them, right Gramps?'

Grandpa nods. 'Yes, we'll stick duct tape over the lenses or something later, but for now, if you kids find anything that looks like a hidden camera, then _leave it be_. And keep all private discussions in this room only. We don't want whoever's doing this is to know that we're onto them.'

'I think it might be a little late for that, right?' Sonic asks. 'I mean, they already blew that first camera we found up so they must know that we're onto 'em.'

'I'm not so sure, but we'll find out soon enough, if we start hearing more explosions on the grounds,' Grandpa mutters. 'They might think they've gotten away with it and that we were only aware of the one camera. We didn't put up a bad act of pretending that we thought it was just another reporter.'

'You think there are _more_ of them than the eight we already found?' Chris feels a cold sensation in his stomach, the same one he gets whenever Eggman is staging an attack on Station Square or when Amy is in one of her tempers.

'It's quite possible, Chris. Better to be safe than sorry, right?'

'Gotcha!' Sonic says, and then he disappears from the hammock and vanishes again.

Chris tries not to appear as uneasy as he's starting to feel. It's never been _that_ weird for him to spot the occasional photographer hanging from a tree or something –it comes with the territory of being a celebrity's child (and the territory of sharing house space with the planet's current superfast hedgehog hero), but nobody's ever done anything like _this_ before. 'I don't get it... hidden cameras all over the grounds? Why would anyone do that? What do they expect to find—?'

'I'm not sure, but I have reason to believe that Sonic and all of you kids from the other world are the target of these cameras rather than any of us humans. What with those psychological exams you lot have had to do recently... and now these cameras... I get the feeling that something peculiar is going on here that we're not being told about.'

'But I thought Miss Elloise was really nice,' Cream says, speaking up for the first time all evening from where she is hugging Ella tightly. 'Why would she want to spy on us?'

'I wouldn't worry too much about Doctor Crowley, Cream,' Grandpa looks a bit more optimistic, 'We might be safe with her.'

'But isn't she working for the government too?' Chris asks, uneasily. He doesn't _want_ to think badly of Doctor Crowley but right now, he's wondering whether they can trust _anyone_.

'True, but I was contacted by Agent Topaz a couple of hours ago. You might remember her?'

'Yes, of course we do, Grandpa. She was really nice,' Cream grinned.

'Right, well after she and Tanaka here had stopped chattering—' Grandpa glimpsed pointedly at Mr Tanaka. If Chris didn't know better, he would think that their usually stoic butler is turning a faint shade of red. '—She was good enough to tell me that she and Rouge are doing some investigations into what's going on and what GUN want with you. She's asked Doctor Crowley to help.'

'Which is all well an' good, unless the 'Doc is already in on the whole shebang,' Sonic points out.

'We're going to have to take that risk,' Grandpa says. 'Topaz and Rouge believe she's trustworthy and she already knows that we know something is up. If she _is_ safe then we'll have just gained an alley quite high up the political ladder.'

'This is still crazy, Amy sighs, sitting down and causing her hammer to disappear. 'What on earth do they want with us?'

'And if it's so important then why don't they just ask us nicely?' Cream pipes up, curiously.

'Cream, you're a sweetie,' Ella sighs knowingly, patting the young rabbit on the head. 'But you know, Mister Thorndyke, she makes a point. Goodness, this is like being in some silly spy movie. I don't see why all these so called government officials won't just give it a break, already.'

'Nonetheless, this situation is quite serious,' Mr Tanaka says. 'I will endeavour to aid Mister Sonic in searching the grounds, Professor Thorndyke. Rest assured that if there are any more spies in the vicinity, we _shall_ uncover them.'

'Yeah, what he said,' Sonic winks at Chris encouragingly. 'Hey, I don't think I checked the other courtyard, or the pool house. I better go look there, too.' And then he's gone. Tanaka bows slightly and leaves the room also leaving everyone else to ponder the situation in silence.

'So,' Amy says, eventually. 'I guess someone ought to go and tell Knuckles about this.'

'Probably a good idea,' Grandpa nods.

'And then what?' Chris asks, feeling at a loss about what their next move could possibly be.

'Lie low,' Grandpa answers. 'Try not to do anything too conspicuous and wait for Topaz to get back to us with further information. I don't want to hear about any of you trying to get into places you shouldn't be, understand? The last thing we want to do right now is draw attention to ourselves.'

'That could be difficult if Eggman tries to take over tomorrow,' Tails mutters. 'He's been weirdly quiet lately, I'd bet our last Chaos Emerald that he's planning something.'

_Eggman_ on top of it all... Chris wondered whether things could possibly get any more complicated than they already were.

And then Sonic reappeared a few seconds later, rubbing the back of his ears and looking anxious.

'Um... yeah, Gramps? We're gonna be needing a _lot_ of duct tape.'

* * *

**Just in case you're wondering, it's ****Vilnius. The capital of Lithuania, that is. **

**Some of you might've also guessed by now than many of the theories and ideas being tossed around in this fanfiction were inspired by the **_**Sonic X comic**_** series. However I think it's important to note right now that this fanfiction does NOT count those comic books as canon. If you have any theories about what's going on in this fanfiction which you gained from reading the Sonic X comic series then they're probably wrong. **


	13. Gloria

**Wow, this is probably the fastest update I've had in a long while. I guess this is a "thank you" for all the lovely reviews you guys have been sending me. I'm really flattered by them all. Though knowing my luck, this speedy update will turn against me in the end... There's got to be an error somewhere. **

**Well, anyway, lookie here –the story FINALLY has a definite time-zone and continuity placing! In case you were wondering, this story takes place between the episodes "**_**Maria's Request, Everyone's Request**_**" and "**_**The Chaotix Detective Agency**_**". So, that's **_**after**_** the events on Space Colony Ark, but **_**before**_** individuals from Sonic's world began appearing on earth (so before Cream is reunited with her mother). **

**So now you know. As usual, standard disclaimers apply. Thank you exceptionally for all your previous reviews and constructive criticism. I hope this fic continues to generate positive responses. **

* * *

Gloria. 

'Oh-kay, next sheet... Case study number three-six-nine, location: Station Square River Harbour, Date: Twenty Eighth of September, 2006. Event: Attack by Doctor Eggman on the Harbour Bridge utilising Robotic contraptions of malicious nature (see equipment file 322). Exact nature of these contraptions is unknown. Sonic the Hedgehog (00316): present. Amy Rose (02038): present. Miles "Tails" Prower (00586): present. C. Thorndyke (N/A, see Psychological profile for Connector C): Present, influence: negligible, due to there being sufficient distance currently between Connector C and Subject S. This is in keeping with evidence suggested by Dr. Crowley's reports. Subject shows proficiency on dry land, yet still apparently has his known profound fear of water, Agents observed subject for several further miles before losing him for half an hour, subject relocated over Edgar Pines Wood. Damage sustained to human dwellings and equipment: negligible, on this occasion no compensation was paid by Thorndyke Industries, though the offer was made (see Evidence Letter number 231)...

'...Urgh. Okay, so I still have _no_ idea what any of this means.'

I sigh; lift my head from the paper I'm reading aloud and blinking my eyes several times, trying to clear my vision. I am doing the exact same thing now (at twelve-thirty pm on what is supposed to be my half day off from work, I might add) that I was doing at home yesterday night until one o clock in the morning –staring and staring at the information Rouge and Topaz provided me with and trying to make some sense out of it all. All I see are case file after case file on Sonic the Hedgehog's Station Square endeavours.

I've been scouring the Government secret intranet sites on my laptop for hours, too, but so far I've only learned one thing that I didn't already know (and it's nothing to do with Sonic, either): apparently Gloria Robotnik doesn't have a Death Certificate. I've searched through the death reports for Station Square all the way from the mid forties to the late nineties, but there isn't a single Gloria Robotnik listed anywhere. I'm not sure what this means exactly, but I'm sure it means something. The information I'm looking for is just like those dreams I've been having: vague and illusive and constantly slipping out of my grasp.

'Either I need another coffee or I need to give the stuff up,' I mutter to myself as I pour over Sonic the Hedgehog's much edited psychological profile (I still really don't like the idea of some military agent messing with my reports this way).

'Goodness, Doc, you've got a look on your face like you found a penny and lost a Chaos Emerald.'

I jump out of my seat, sending several papers flying.

I'm not sure _who_ I was expecting to have snuck into my office utterly unnoticed, but Rouge the bat wasn't them. She stands before me, arms folded and an amused smile on her face. 'Whoa, easy there, Doc, I'm just here doing a check up, I promise it won't take a minute.'

I take several deep breaths, trying to salvage a little of my dignity from where it's scattered across the table. 'Holy... for goodness _sakes_, Rouge, don't you ever _knock_?'

'Not as a general rule, no,' Rouge says, crossing her legs. I have no idea whatsoever how she managed to get from the window to my desk so quickly (probably while I was blinking; it's like she can teleport or something). 'Figured I'd drop by and see how our good Doctor is doing with her research... well, actually it was all Topaz's idea that I come here. You have no idea how finicky the girl gets about this sort of thing, always looking over her shoulder and—Oh, calm _down_ already, I _am_ getting to the point.'

I blink for a moment wondering who Rouge is talking to, then I realise that she's wearing a wire. She must be in communication with Topaz. 'Oh well I don't see _you_ being Miss Invasive today, Topaz. Honestly, why's it always _me_ that does the dirty work in this partnership?' There's another pause while Rouge listens to her wire, then she smiles. 'Well, that's true,' she says, turning to face me again. 'Just pretend you didn't hear that, Doc, my colleague and I are having a little personal disagreement.'

I take another deep breath. 'If you wanted to talk to me you could've just called; you've never heard of telephones either, I suppose?'

'We didn't think it'd be a good idea to use the government line,' Rouge shrugs. 'You could've been bugged already. Though I checked your office last time I was here –seemed pretty clean. Besides I wanted to talk to you in person about all of this...' she waved a hand at the papers scattered all over my desk. 'Sure it's a good idea to bring all these to your office?'

'No more dangerous than leaving them at my apartment would've been,' I shrug, sitting myself down again and staring at the papers.

'Doesn't seem like you're having much luck,' Rouge says.

'No... There's more stuff in here about the Ultimate Life Form Project than Sonic the Hedgehog, Rouge. Most of it seems to be about Maria.'

'Ah. Gerald Robotnik's Magic Word.'

'Magic word?' I repeat, and then I remember. 'Oh yeah... that was his password for all the security systems on the ARK, wasn't it? His granddaughter's name.'

'That's the one,' Rouge nods. 'Kind of a simple password, really.'

'There's something else,' I add, suddenly remembering 'Do you know that the family tree you gave me lists Maria Robotnik as having an older sister?'

'Yeah, Topaz noticed,' Rouge says. 'We were hoping you would too.'

'But I didn't read about her in any of the files I have access to concerning the colony,' I go on, uncertainly. 'If it weren't for this family tree I wouldn't have known she existed.' I tap the keys of my laptop, bringing up the appropriate screen. Rouge peers over my shoulder. I'm not sure if her apparent interest is genuine or not. 'Maria and Gloria's parents are listed as having been killed in a car accident several weeks after the ARK incident...'

'Car accident, eh?' Rouge sounds sceptical and I don't blame her.

'Yeah, I know. It sounded dodgy to me, too. I expect this is another of CLIP's cover ups... But Gloria's name doesn't appear on any death certificates _anywhere_. So far as I can tell she simply vanished... All I could find was this—' I hand her a printout of a picture I found online after several _hours_ of searching. A grainy, sepia toned image of a young couple and a pair of girls. The girls are roughly ten and eight years old, and they're smiling brightly for the camera.

Oddly enough, they look only vaguely similar, one (the younger child, Maria) clearly taking after her blonde, shy-faced mother, and the slightly older child looking more similar to her darker haired father. Only the two girls' eyes are anything alike. 'This picture must've been taken on a visit to Space Colony ARK,' I said. 'It's not a great image, but I was surprised that I could find even that.'

Rouge gazes at the small, blurry picture for a long moment. 'And this _Gloria_ wasn't killed along with her parents?' Rouge asks.

'If she was then she was completely left out of the reports concerning their death...'

'Then perhaps she didn't die,' Rouge concludes. 'Odds are she went into hiding after her family was killed. She probably took another name to avoid being found and having the same thing happen to her.'

'Then for all we know she's still alive,' I murmur. Then I sigh, pushing the laptop away from me. 'Interesting as all this is, though, Rouge, I _really_ don't see what any of it has to do with Sonic the Hedgehog.'

'Honestly? Neither do we,' Rouge mutters. 'All we know is that most of the information we've got here was found in a CLIP secured-folder called _SONIC-X_. Most of it was concealed behind about a dozen complex security encryptions and six passwords.'

'And you _broke_ them?'

'Topaz has a friend who's a dab hand at breaking and entering; _digitally_, of course,' Rouge winks. 'Maybe _we_ can't see the connection all of this to Sonic, but _somebody_ in CLIP can.'

'Then we need to work out what _they_ see,' I say, and then I think for a moment: there is, of course, one thing which connects Sonic to Maria Robotnik. 'They probably think that Sonic has some link to the Ultimate Lifeform Project, right? And it's _him_ that CLIP seems the most interested in... They're stockpiling all this information about him for _some_ reason, and I'm going to find out what it is.' I don't quite know why I said that, but... something told me that I should. I know that I'm involved in this now, up to my neck, as they say. I couldn't back out even if I wanted to, but somehow, I feel as if I need to show Rouge that I _don't_ want to.

Rouge smirks, and I find myself wondering, not for the first time, exactly why she's here and what she personally hopes to gain from all of this. 'Knew we could count on you, Doc.'

I smile slightly to myself, looking back at my laptop screen and the grainy image of the Robotnik family. I imagine a smiling old man, nothing like the embittered prisoner he became, signalling to them to group together while he took the photograph. His family together for one rare, happy moment.

In that instant, I can almost understand why Gerald Robotnik did what he did. 'It's strange, isn't it?' I find myself saying. 'The Ultimate Lifeform Project... Shadow... ARK... the Robotnik family legacy... it all started because of that one little girl.'

'You don't have to tell me how weird it is,' Rouge nods in agreement. 'But... I knew Shadow, you know? Whoever and whatever he was, he was sure hung up on that kid. He would've destroyed the world for her: _literally_. And he almost did.' I bite my bottom lip, looking up at where she's hovering at my shoulder. If I didn't know better I would swear that Rouge sounds _nervous_.

'Shadow's dead,' I murmur, and then I remind myself of _why_ he's dead. Of what Chris told me during his profiling. 'Whatever he'd been told, he chose to save us in the end.'

'Yeah. I figure maybe Gerald really wanted Shadow to _stop_ his crazy plan all along,' Rouge says. 'That was one powerful life form, Doc. There's only one person who ever came close to beating him, and that's Sonic. And _he's_ just an ordinary hedgehog –where _we_ come from, of course. Knowing that...' she says, 'maybe it's not such a strange idea, that the government would want to gather as much info about Sonic as they can.'

There's a pause before Rouge flips over my head and hovers lightly before my desk. I get the distinct feeling that she's not _used _to things like this –thoughts instead of action, assistance instead of solo work. I kind of know how she feels, in that respect. 'Oh, yeah, before I forget, Doc: here's an additional titbit for ya –Topaz wanted me to tell ya that they've been finding _cameras_ at the Thorndyke residence.'

I frown. 'Cameras?'

'Uhuh. All _over_ the place. They're not sure who's been putting them there...'

I snort before I can resist the urge. 'I think I have a pretty good idea: CLIP.'

'Probably. Though we couldn't find any video files when we went snooping in the SONIC-X folder. They must be holding that information somewhere else. We _did_ suspect Eggman for a while, but this really doesn't sound like the kinda thing he'd do. CLIP is the only real suspect. And while we're on the subject of our little wannabe dictator,' Rouge goes on, seemingly changing the subject yet again. 'He's been _awfully_ quiet lately, don't you think?'

I sigh, trying to tidy the papers on my desk. 'Frankly, Rouge I don't really _care_ what Eggman's up to right now so long as he _stays_ quiet.'

'Maybe you should,' Rouge shrugs. 'He's involved in this after all, even if only due to familial connections. Whatever the case... wait a sec, what was that, Topaz?'

Rouge cuts off suddenly, seeming to listen to something from her headpiece. I look at her expectantly, waiting, as a frown spreads across her face. 'What d'ya mean a bunch of government cars just pulled up outside the Thorndyke household?'

I feel a sudden, tense sensation in my stomach. Rouge has stopped hovering and is standing stock still in front of me. 'Well they don't have any reason to, right? D'you know if our blue speed 'hog is home right now?'

There's another pause while Rouge starts looking more agitated. 'Ohhh boy... Topaz, honey, I don't wanna sound like I'm playing Good Cop or anything, but don't you think you should go help them out?'

Then Rouge turns to me without waiting for Topaz's reply. 'What?' I ask. 'What is it?'

'Trouble, that's what. And a lot faster than we were expecting it to come. The Thorndyke household is apparently in the midst of an unexpected government visit. It's probably whoever's been setting those cameras,' Rouge scowls.

If I hadn't already been sitting down I probably would've felt the need to sink into my chair right now. The papers scattered before me blur. 'CLIP's there? _Now_? But what are they after?'

'That's what we wanted _you_ to figure out, but my bets are that ol' speedy is their target,' Rouge says, rushing over to my window and shoving it open with far more noise than when she entered. 'Either way, I'd better go help Topaz out. Don't get paid if I don't do my job, you know?'

'But... what do I do?'

'Sit tight, I would figure, Doc,' Rouge says half leaning out of the window as she speaks. 'Lay low. Better yet, gather up all this stuff here and get the heck out of this building. We dunno if they're onto you yet, but if they are then things are only gonna get messy if you stay here.'

'Let me come with you.'

Rouge looks at me, and her face is once again dry and sceptical. 'I'm a spy, honey, not a bodyguard,' she says. 'I can't be keeping an eye on you.'

'But Rouge, the _Thorndykes_, I can't just—'

'Can't just _what_?' Rouge looks at me dubiously. 'Leave this to the _real_ experts, sweetie. You just kep checking out that information and finding those connections we're looking for. I'll catch ya later.'

'How _much_ later?'

'Soon as I can, that's when. Appreciate the help,' Rogue says quickly, and then she's gone and the window is slamming shut behind her.

* * *

Quite frankly, Miss Ella Ramirez Arroyo, maid and cleaner of the Thorndyke residence, isn't having the best of days.

First the washing machine broke down right in the middle of a load of bed linen, then the delivery men sent her the wrong vacuum cleaner and she had to spend an hour on the phone trying to get it replaced. Professor Thorndyke was good enough to move all of those boxes of aeroplane parts that he had left in the corridor like she asked him to –but he moved them into Ella's _cleaning closet_, an act about which she is still not best pleased.

And now, just when she thinks the day can't possibly get anymore trying, she has a bunch of awful government agents or whoever-on-earth they're supposed to be barging into the house making ridiculous demands, scaring the life out of poor Cream, (who is now hiding behind the sofa) and trampling dirty footprints all over Ella's nice clean carpet.

Ella has no idea what they want but they certainly aren't being polite or patient about it. What gall they have, just _demanding_ to see Sonic like that. No doubt these impudent men don't expect much resistance from a plump, forty year old house maid with a feather duster in one hand.

This is a rather big mistake. Ella is a woman who has seen off her fair share of house salesman and reporters, so be damned if she's going to look at these so called "government agents" any differently. One should never underestimate a feather duster in capable hands.

There are several long minutes of chaos during which their unexpected "guests" start to get _very _aggressive indeed, Mr Tanaka appears yielding one of Mr Thorndyke's bamboo swords from that time when he developed a taste for oriental design ("Goodness! Mr Tanaka, not in the _living room_!"), and not long after that Sonic and Miss Amy charge into the room wondering what all the commotion is about before joining in with the fray. Even Cream joins in, throwing Cheese into the room so that he can bounce repeatedly off their invaders heads like a pinball.

This goes on for longer than Ella cares to think about.

It's very nice of Miss Topaz to come charging to the rescue, too. Ella has absolutely no idea where she came from, but she's rather glad for the assistance. The group of eight men who had barged into the living room as if they owned the place are soon lying sprawled unconscious on the floor with a bunch of the indignant residents looking at them.

'Ha!' Amy snaps, breathing heavily and gripping her hammer tightly. 'That'll teach you to stick cameras up everywhere, busters!'

'I concur with Miss Amy's words,' Tanaka says, carefully sheathing the sword which he has not actually used. 'It appears that we have just encountered a rather hostile attack.'

'No kidding and I don't think the carpets will ever recover,' Ella sighs indignantly, before looking up. 'Miss Topaz, it's good to see you but I wish you could've called us, or asked to come to dinner or something, rather than bringing a _platoon_ with you.'

'Um, yeah... sorry, Miss, I _swear_ these guys don't have anything to do with me,' Topaz mumbles, brushing down her jacket and looking at them in a rather confused manner. 'I guess I wasn't needed after all. You're pretty tough for your profession.'

'Ach, think nothing of it dearie, all this cleaning gives a girl good muscles, you know?' Ella leans behind the sofa to pick up a rather anxious looking Cream. 'There, my bambino, are you alright?'

'Yes, I'm alright,' Cream looks at the pile of unconscious government big suits on the floor in fascination. 'But what do they all want, Ella?'

'Same thing that they wanted when they installed all those cameras, I'll bet,' Sonic muttered, giving the nearest agent a careful prod with his foot.

'Right, and I think it was you they were after, Sonic,' Miss Topaz says firmly. 'They've been watching for a while now.

'Yeah, I kinda figured' Sonic says, soundly surprisingly calm about this whole thing.

Tanaka steps forwards. 'Mister Sonic,' he says. 'If you would kindly assist us in cleaning up this...mess?'

'You got it, Tanaka,' Sonic winks. Then a second later, a blue blur is whizzing out of the door, and the pile of agents lying on the floor is one less. Fifteen seconds later, it's two less...

'Good riddance to bad garbage,' Amy mutters.

'The real question is, of course, _why_ are they doing this? Tanaka asks as he picks pieces of dry dirt off the carpet. 'And why stage this seemingly hostile abduction? Surely they did not expect these Agents to be able to take in Sonic? He is faster than the eye can see, after all.'

'Thanks, man,' Sonic's voice calls to them as he sweeps through the living room again and another Agent vanishes from the pile.

'We don't know what's going on yet. But whatever's going on here there's someone in the higher ranks of GUN who has plans for Sonic; and maybe for the rest of you, as well.' Topaz says.

'Maybe they'll go away now that we've stopped them once?' Cream asks, hopefully. Topaz shakes her head.

'Afraid not, Cream. I know my co workers, and the agents in CLIP have the determination of hungry wolves.'

'Excuse me, Miss Topaz but... CLIP?' Ella frowns wondering what on earth stationary has to do with this.

'Yes, CLIP. The _Covert Lateral International Program_. They're the agents who do all of GUN's dirtiest work. Their Head of Department is Malcolm Torn, an Ex Military Agent. They're in a different section to me –one of the most secretive areas of the government. It's Torn who has been asking for your psychological profiles and placing cameras everywhere, I promise, my department didn't have anything to do with this...' she looks almost pleadingly at Mr Tanaka (a look Ella knows all too well), who merely nods in understanding. Satisfied, Topaz continues. 'Rouge and I... well, we... not entirely _legally_ managed to obtain copies of some of the files that CLIP is keeping hidden –not the most well hidden of files, but we _did_ unclose a lot of information about Sonic. They're planning _something_.'

'Judging from this event, I doubt that this is a good thing,' Tanaka says, stepping aside as Sonic's speed blur sweeps through the house one last time, carrying away the final Agent.

Sonic returns about forty seconds later, brushing his hands together. An' that takes care of that,' he grins.

'Hey, Sonic, what did you do with the agents?' Amy asks.

'Scattered em about halfway across the continent,' Sonic shrugs, grinning. 'They're all in different states right now, miles away from here. Don't worry, I left 'em maps, but it'll still take them forever to get back to where they're supposed to be.'

'Well that gives us a while to act,' Topaz sighs. 'I just wish we knew what we were acting _on_. I hardly have any idea what's going on or why they're being so damn... aggressive about all of this. I'm sorry we can't be more help.'

'Do not apologise, Miss Topaz, you have already been exceptionally helpful to us,' Tanaka says (and Ella has to suppress a smile as Topaz's cheeks flush a slightly darker shade of red.) 'I think it would be wise if you were to leave the premises for a while.'

'You mean we have to go away?' Cream clings to Cheese, looking as nervous as this idea makes Ella feel.

'Now, Creamy, I'm sure it won't be for long' she tuts. 'Just until this awful mess has died down, yes?'

'But it's not _fair_ we shouldn't _have_ to move!' Amy grumbles. 'I say we barge in there and just _ask_ them what they're after.'

'No, Amy, that'll be exactly what they _want _you to do,' Topaz sighs. 'Rush in without thinking.'

'Who's not _thinking clearly_?' Amy yells.

'You, quite apparently, Miss Rose,' Tanaka says firmly, and Amy closes her mouth quickly, looking sheepish. Ella honestly doesn't blame the poor thing for getting all upset. Ella is still feeling rather unnerved herself.

'Someone should locate Professor Thorndyke and Tails and have them accompany us to the garage,' Tanaka says eventually. 'I believe that this calls for an impromptu family meeting. I would also suggest that Master Chris be _collected_ from school today rather than allowed to return on his own...'

* * *

I sit quite still in my chair for a few minutes after Rogue has left, wondering what on earth just happened. My heart is thumping slightly faster than it should be. I'm imagining poor Cream coming face to face with a bunch of government agents in black uniforms. Amy drawing that huge hammer and getting more defensive than agents really like civilians to behave around them... It's not an encouraging mental image.

My computer screen fades black as it goes into standby mode. The images on the screen vanish, and then my gaze falls on a single sheet of paper, which seems to stick out amongst all the others on my desk. My eyes are drawn to it like a magnet. I reach out for it: its Christopher Thorndyke's excessively edited and modified Psychological Profile report... almost everything crossed out except for that one small fragment of text at the bottom of the page: _Suggested Action_...

I reread my own words a few times, memorising them, putting them together with the rest of the information in the SONIC-X folder. And then it just kind of... happens.

It sounds peculiar, but for a few seconds, I'm not exactly sure what it is that I've realised. It's like my brain is working a little faster than I am. Maybe it's just a desperate gut instinct (I really haven't been sleeping enough lately), but something is drawing my eyes from Chris's psychological profile, to the words that I was reading just before Rouge arrived. _"C. Thorndyke (N/A, see Psychological profile for Connector C): Present, influence: negligible, due to there being sufficient distance currently between Connector C and Subject S. This is in keeping with evidence suggested by Dr. Crowley's reports..." _

In keeping with evidence suggested by Dr. Crowley's Reports. _My_ reports. Which speak of connections and affection and just plain _interest_. Of the influence one had upon the other. Of a perfectly normal twelve year old with a penchant for getting into trouble and the very much _not_ normal Sonic the Hedgehog, who is always there to get him out of it...

I sit quite still in my chair for several seconds as my mind finally catches up with its own train of thought. A deep, cold sensation is building in my gut. I feel something similar whenever I wake up from a disturbing dream that I can't quite remember.

...The attack on the Thorndyke household is just a decoy. It's not _Sonic_ that they're after. Not right now, anyway.

I throw the paper down as quickly as I picked it up and start rooting around in my drawers for my client address book. No time to do more than superficially check the line for bugs, I locate the number I need and start jabbing it out on the keypad.

I really, _really_ hope that Station Square Middle School doesn't have one of those goddamn answering machines...


	14. Franklyn

**Believe it or not, I've had some trouble writing Chris in this chapter. Yes, and I'm the girl who writes **_**Chaos Mythologies**_**. I'm used to writing him in his post Metarex-saga form, so dealing with him as a twelve year old is somewhat tricky. Thank you once again for all the reviews. I try my best to reply and I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter up. **

**Also, to those of you who might be interested, there are now illustrations of Dr. Eloise Crowley and some of the scenes from this fanfiction up in my deviantart account "scraps". Fanfiction dot net doesn't allow you to leave links in stories, however, so if you'd like to see these images, go to deviantart dot com and search for "**_**BHP - Ella's Realisation**_**" and "**_**BHP - Swimming Pool Talk**_**". **

**Now, with that little bit of self promotion over and dealt with, it's on with the fic. Standard disclaimers apply. Reviews and concrit are appreciated. **

* * *

Franklyn.

The space of time between the secretary picking up the phone (Station Square Middle School _doesn't_ use an answering machine, thank god) and the appropriate tutor arriving from his classroom seems to stretch from now until forever, and I spend the whole time gripping the phone so tightly that my nails scratch the plastic.

'_Hello, this is Mr Edison, grade seven tutor, speaking.' _

It's only now that I realise I haven't thought about what to _say_. It's not like I had time to rehearse a script and I'm not the kind of person who can just demand what she wants down a phone line. 'This... this is Doctor Crowley, sir. Pardon me for the intrusion, but I was hoping... I mean, I'd like to speak to you about your student, Chris.'

'_I see. Thorndyke or Moore?'_

'I'm sorry?'

'_I have_ two _Chris's in my class, ma'am, which are you referring to?'_

'Oh. Um, Thorndyke. Christopher Thorndyke. This is... his psychiatrist speaking.' A government psychologist who can't make a phone call without stammering. Sometimes I really wonder how I got this job...

'_Chris has a psychiatrist?' _Mr Edison doesn't sound convinced.

'He does now. Look, this might seem peculiar, but I'm issuing a doctor's statement to have him removed from class, effective immediately.'

'_I'm sorry, miss, but I don't think I understand. A statement for _what_, exactly?' _

Doctor's statement. For goodness _sakes_, Eloise, what're you _thinking_? Try and sound more like there's a potential kidnapping about to take place for crying out loud...

...Except that I can't do that, can I? Not without risking letting slip that I'm onto this whole thing. I hardly know what I'm doing. I could be making things _worse_ for all I know, but I can't just sit here waiting while something happens and there's no way I can get in contact with Rouge and Topaz. 'You're familiar with class removals on doctor's orders aren't you? I'm a doctor, I'm making a student removal request.'

'_Can you provide me with proof of ID?' _Mr Edison says . I've heard that tone before. It's the same as the one I heard in the voice of a disbelieving secretary the day I showed up for my interview at the government, shaking in my high heels.

'Not down the phone, no, but—'

'_Then do you have a contact address I can take? I'm afraid I still don't understand what you're asking.'_

I wince. I should've called the Thorndyke residence first, or _Thorndyke Industries_ Main Office. There's no way he would've been this suspicious about a call from the CEO of the company which has its name on ninety percent of the electronics in the city.

And then I remind myself who I am and what my government position is, take another deep breath, and answer. 'In other words get that boy out of the classroom right now, Mr Edison. And get him somewhere where—'

'_I can't do that without parental consent, doctor. And anyway, he doesn't appear to be causing trouble. For that matter, the very idea of _Christopher Thorndyke_ causing trouble is—'_

'It's not _him_ causing trouble that I'm worried about. And you _have_ consent,' I say, as firmly as I can. 'The consent of the head psychiatrist for the President. I'm pretty sure that's as good as parental. This is a matter of urgency.'

'_...Wait, you're—'_

'_The_ Doctor Eloise Crowley, Head of the Department for Governmental Psychology in the Western United States as of the year two thousand and two,' I continue without pausing, telling myself I sound more confident than I feel. As confident as someone with my kind of power _should_ be. 'You can find my personal page on the public Octagon website. If that's not enough proof for you, sir then I don't know what is.'

There's a moment of silence. Too long a moment. CLIP could be in the building by now for all I know. I can feel my chest tightening. What if he's already in on this? What if I'm only making this whole situation worse? What if I'm wrong and it _isn't_ Chris they're after? What if—

'_Ah... if you could hold for a second, ma'am. There's some interference coming through. I need to switch to another line.' _

By the time I open my mouth to say that I'm not getting any static at all on my end, the line goes dead, and there's a crackling, whirring noise, like someone activating an external microphone. _'Code Three-One-Six, Blue Alert Division. This is Chalkboard Charlie reporting, please respond_.'

...Okay. That isn't the voice of Mr Edison.

In spite of the fact that time is working against me, I hesitate. I know what he's saying, but it takes me a moment of brain wracking to work it out. _Code Three-One-Six, Blue Alert is _the undercover code used for situations involving extra-dimensional phenomenon. In other words: Sonic the Hedgehog. When GUN first requested that I begin Galaxy X psychological profiling, they referred to it as a _Code Three-One-Six _Issue.

I only realise I'm clenching my fists too tightly when my nails start drawing blood...What if they're already in there? What if CLIP has already infiltrated the one place I thought was clear?

'_Doctor Crowley, can you hear me? This is Chalkboard Charlie reporting in. I know you're still there. You may speak freely, this line is secure._'

What do I _do_? If he's with CLIP then I could be about to blow this whole operation up in our faces. And if I lie, then how the hell do I explain what I'm doing on a secure government phone line?

Well, I guess it's too late to back down now.

'Um. Reporting?' My voice comes out in a croak.

'_Good,' _Charlie –if that's his real name, which I exceedingly doubt– sounds relieved. '_Let's get straight to business: Do you operate under Code-Blue-Three-One-Six?_'

'I. No, I'm not, I...'

'_It's alright, Doctor,'_ Charlie says reassuringly. '_I'm not with CLIP, I'm with TAC Undercover. I was posted at Station Square Middle School until recently. It was my job to keep an eye on Chris Thorndyke while Sonic was associating with him. My name while working there was Franklyn Stewart._'

I swallow, nodding my understanding even though he can't see it. It looks like they already have Agents in Station Square Middle School. 'I see,' I pause, licking my lips and scoruing my brain for a gemstone-related name. 'So... you know Agent Asteria?'

_'The name you're looking for is_ Topaz_,'_ Franklyn Steward says with a note of amusement, catching onto my trick straight away. _'And even if I_ didn't _know her, I'm pretty sure CLIP's agents will all have been briefed on their enemies activities and ID's already, doctor, so that's not much of a bluff_.'

I shrug my shoulders uneasily.' Um... can't blame me for trying?'

_'Heh. Guess not. In answer to your question:_ _We've had coffee once or twice. I apologise for the unexpected switch, but my replacement colleague at the school thought it might be better if you spoke directly to me since I know more about our current situation. Care to tell me what this is about?'_

God, I swear nothing like this was never in my job description. I'm a psychiatrist not a _secret_ _agent_. 'No, there's no time for that, this is an emergency, are you near Station Square Middle School?'

'_I'm on the outskirts of town, but I can get there in ten minutes flat.' _

'Then you'd better start moving right now.'

'_I started moving the second I got your call, Doctor,_' he answers. The sound of feet crunching against gravel and a car door opening confirms it.

'If you were watching Chris before then why not now?'

'_Like I said, I was transferred._ _My replacement at the school is just a follow through operative_,' Franklyn explains, sounding every bit the secret agent I suppose he is. '_He hasn't really been informed of the exact circumstances under which I was posted, he just showed up to take my place when requested. We're encouraged to maintain secrecy in our department so it helps if... well_...'

'If the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing?' I suggest, unable to keep from smiling a little, despite the situation.

'_Basically, yes. Let's not waste time, Doctor.'_

'O-oh. Sure. Look, this might sound a little strange, but I've been working with Agent Topaz on the Galaxy-X situation, and I believe Chris is in trouble.'

'_Care to explain why_?' Franklyn says. I can hear the sound of a car engine starting on his end of the line.

'I... I'm not sure,' I stammer. 'But I _know_ it. An attack was just staged on the Thorndyke residence, but something didn't quite gel about it. I believe it was a distraction. They're trying to mask the real target.'

'_And you think that target is Chris_,' Franklyn finishes. I hear the sound of an engine too powerful to belong in a car paid for with a middle school teacher's salary in the background. '_But why would anyone want him?'_

'Something to do with Sonic, I think,' I leaf through my notes with one hand while trying to hang onto the phone with the other. It's starting to make sense now. I had the answers written out in front of me. Hell, I'm the one who _wrote_ them in the first place. I may not know exactly what CLIP is after, but I know the means by which they're going to try and get it. 'Trust me; it fits with what I've discovered. I'm sorry for just calling like this, but... I couldn't think what else to do.'

I hope he doesn't ask me to explain in detail. I hate explaining things down the phone at the best of times, and right now, I get the feeling that my theories (not to mention my nerves) are held together with nothing more than intuition and coffee beans. The papers are still spread out on the table in front of me and I continue shifting through them with shaking hands until I find the one I want: _Connector C, __**Case Study**__: Galaxy X, __**Name**__: Thorndyke, Christopher N. _'If my hunch is right then he's in Danger...' And so is Sonic, I add mentally. And Tails and Amy and Knuckles and Rouge and even little Cream. 'They're _all_ in danger. Because of me...'

'_I'm sorry?' _

'It's... something that I wrote, in my report,' I mutter, quoting it to him word for word: '"_While some further exploration into C's involvement with Subject S might be wise, it is currently unlikely that C would encourage Subject S to become involved in untoward activities... C potentially provides a point at which more frequent interactions with all Subjects can be established"... _I told them that. I wrote it all down for them. I told CLIP _exactly_ what they needed to hear.'

'_Then Christopher Thorndyke is a pawn_.' Mr Steward says.

'I think so.' (And by sticking our noses into this business, we've stirred things up enough for them to move in on the kid.) 'He's probably been one since this whole mess started. He's something CLIP can hold against Sonic: human, more vulnerable than any of his friends from Galaxy-X, not to mention that he happens to be the son of the CEO of Thorndyke Industries.'

There's a pause before Franklyn speaks again. '_Well, this is starting to make a rather worrying kind of sense. The Thorndyke Industries logo is tattooed over half of Station Square._'

'Exactly. That means Chris can be threatened in ways Sonic's other friends can't be.' I swallow. 'If they have him then they don't just have a hold on _Sonic_: they have a hold on the city's most powerful Company.'

There's a moment of silence asides from the crackling static of the phone line and the sound of car gears changing. '_You know, I'm really going out on a loop here, Doctor Crowley. You haven't presented me with any real evidence for what you're claiming. For all I know, I'm just acting on hunches._'

'I...' I hesitate again, licking my lips. 'I know that. Still, I don't think we want to risk my being right.'

'_True enough_. _But I hope you'll forgive me for hoping that you're wrong. You'd better get out of your office_.'

'I'm sorry this is all—'

'_No apology necessary. They would've moved in sooner or later with or without our interference_,' Franklyn says, firmly. '_They're just playing their hand a little sooner than we expected, that's all.'_

'Is there anything I can do?'

'_You've done enough, now let us take it from here_,' Franklyn says, and how he manages to say that without sounding remotely condescending suggests that he was quite the middle-school teacher considering that he doesn't have a single (real ) teaching qualification to his name. '_Take a holiday or something; make sure you're well out of the way of anyone who works for the government who isn't Topaz, Rouge or myself. We don't want you becoming a tool for _CLIP_ as well._'

I find myself laughing bitterly. 'Oh, I think I'm already one of those...' I'm not sure how supposed to just sit here while a twelve year old might be about to become a poker chip for some insane governmental faction, but I find myself agreeing with this Agent anyway. 'Please get to him.'

'_Rest assured we will, ma'am_,' Franklyn says, and then the line goes dead.

My office feels more insanely quiet than it ever has before. And for a long while I just stand there, torn between sinking into my chair and bolting for the door. I feel the way I did once when I was ten years old and stirred up a bees nest in our back yard. The one place where I feel in control and assured has turned into somewhere that I really don't want to be.

I think it'd be a good idea to take Rouge and Franklyn's advice and get the heck out of here.

* * *

When Mr Steward appears in his former classroom at Station Square Middle School, he doesn't bother stopping and saying hello to his previous students. Instead, he heads straight for Mr Edison (who had risen to his feet when Mr Stewart entered) and whispers something urgently in his ear.

Chris doesn't even notice his arrival until Danny elbows him. 'Hey, is that Mr Stewart?'

The other students have noticed too. There's hasty murmur spreading amongst the class, and a few people are trying to say hi to their former teacher. Mr Steward gives them a distracted wave, but otherwise doesn't look at them.

'Yeah,' Francis has a frown on her face (though that may just be because she's stuck on another maths problem.) 'What's he doing here? I thought he got transferred to another school.'

'He _did_ get transferred,' Chris mutters. 'Maybe he's here to pick up some stuff he left behind?'

'After two months?' Danny frowns. 'Wouldn't he have noticed it was missing sooner? Besides, I don't remember seeing anything in there.'

'_Danny_!' Helen looks alarmed. 'Have you been rooting around in the teacher's desk?'

Danny shuffles. 'I wasn't _rooting_ _around_. Not really. I just took a quick look! The drawers were mostly empty. Why do _you_ think he's here, anyway?'

'I don't know. Perhaps he's just coming to check up on us,' Helen says. Which sounds quite likely. Most of the class really like Mr Stewart, and it wouldn't be weird if he came back to see them.

Except that Helen doesn't look entirely convinced by what she's saying. Chris bites his lip, glimpsing at their former teacher and somehow managing to meet his eyes across three sets of table. He's clearly gazing in Chris's direction.

Chris looks down again. He remembers what Grandpa said when he saw him off this morning; the warnings about not speaking to anyone he didn't know and to keep an eye on the clock after final bell went. And all of that confusion about the Cameras in their house the night before... Chris really doesn't want to think about stuff like that right now.

'Know what I bet?' Danny says, 'I bet he's here for Chris.'

Helen looks at Danny curiously. 'For Chris? Why do you say that?'

'Because he keeps looking at our table, and it's not any of _our_ mom's he's gotta crush on.'

Francis wrinkle's her nose. 'Danny, eww!'

What? C'mon, Francis, it's totally obvious that he's a fan of Chris's mom.'

Chris lowers his head a little more and tries not to let on that he's changing colour. 'That's not _funny_, Danny.'

Not funny, maybe, but it's possibly true, because a few seconds later, Mr Steward leaves Mr Edison and makes a beeline directly for their table.

'Good morning, kids. So, no red emeralds today, huh?'

'Nah, this is algebra,' Francis saws, trying not to wrinkle her nose again on account of the fact that she's talking to a teacher.

'Never were a big fan of math, eh, Francis?' Mr Stewart chuckles, but there's something vague and distracted about his tone; something you probably wouldn't notice unless you were paying close attention. And everyone on Chris's table is paying close attention right now. 'I don't blame you. It wasn't my best subject either. Wish I could stay around and help you out, but I'm afraid I'm here on business. Chris...' He looks at Chris with a face so obviously hiding anxiety that even a twelve year old can pick up on it. 'I'm sorry to interrupt your lesson, but would you mind coming with me?'

Chris stays silent for a moment, feeling conscious of many pairs of eyes gazing in their direction. 'Uh. With you, sir?'

'Yes, it's on your grandfather's request. There's something going on at home right now, you see –nothing to worry about, but your grandfather would like for you to return for it, anyway. It's alright; you have a permission slip already made out.'

Chris blinks, trying to work out exactly how Mr Stewart factors into something to do with his family. If it's his grandfather who requested that he be removed from class, then why is it Mr Stewart, who's really nothing more than a former teacher, who came to see him?

'Why'd they send you?' Francis asks, bluntly, making no bones about the fact that she isn't buying any of this either.

'Oh, they didn't,' Mr Stewart says, calmly. 'I just happened to be at the Thorndyke place at the time and figured I might as well make myself useful. Professor Thorndyke once worked at the same university where I got my teaching degree, did you know? We were just catching up on some history.'

Even to twelve year olds, this was pretty unconvincing. Danny shoots Francis an _I-Told-You-So_ kind of look. Great, Chris thinks, sarcastically. Now the whole class is going to think that their ex-teacher has a crush on his mother.

'Grandpa never mentioned anything like that,' Chris mutters.

'Well he never taught _my_ subject,' Mr Stewart says and he clearly thinks that this explanation is good enough.

It's not like Chris can really argue, anyway. Mr Edison is giving him an agreeing look, and most of the class is still staring at him with confused, interested expressions. It's kind of embarrassing, and it's going to look conspicuous whether he stays of goes.

So much for not drawing attention to himself today, Chris thinks, gathering his things and following Mr Stewart to the door. He hears Helen muttering as he turns back to wave.

'Wow, what d you suppose that was about, guys?'

'Who knows? Whatever it is, it means he gets to leave class right in the middle of a maths lesson,' Danny mutters, folding his arms. 'Lucky.'

* * *

'Uh... Mr Stewart? Shouldn't we slow down?'

The car is really going way too fast. Not _Sonic_ fast, of course, but quick enough that things outside the window blur before he can get a half decent look at them and the familiar route he usually takes to and from school is barely visible. Their speed makes the already strange situation feel even more surreal. 'We're going at seventy miles per hour in a residential area.'

'I wouldn't be too concerned, Chris, it's the middle of the day. You have your seatbelt on, right?'

'Yes.'

'Then don't worry, it'll be fine. It just so happens I've dabbled in rally driving in my time.'

'Oh.' There seem to be a lot of things that Mr Stewart has dabbled in. Chris is biting his tongue not to ask what the heck is going on here (because _something_'s going on, you'd have to be an idiot not to notice). At the speed they're going, he'll be home to find out for himself soon enough anyway. Provided that they don't crash into anything.

'But why're we going so _fast_?'

'Um. What can I say? Old habits die hard, especially during slow traffic hours.' Mr Stewart says, and that sounds about as plausible to Chris as the story he was given back in class.

He really doesn't think that Grandpa knew Mr Stewart. at university Not unless they'd both forgotten about it and then suddenly remembered again, after all their previous meetings where Chris had actually been present. They hadn't given any indication that they'd known each other or at least found each other familiar, then. Even knowing that universities could be spread across lots of different buildings (and therefore, there's a chance they both attended the same one, but in different places or at different times), Mr Stewart's story really doesn't add up, but Chris is starting to think that if he can't trust the people who he's known for years, then who _can_ he trust?

So, okay, Chris thinks. He'll go along with it. _Sonic_ always seems to find out things he wouldn't otherwise when he just goes along with them and sees where they end up, right? Besides, this is _Mr Stewart_ so it isn't like he's being abducted by some total stranger.

'Hey, Mr Stewart?' Chris asks, deciding to broach a risky subject. 'What would you... I mean, if you had a friend who...' Chris pauses, takes a breath and rethinks what he wants to say. 'If you thought somebody bad was after your best friend. What would you do about it?'

'Someone bad?' Mr Stewart sounds only a little less distracted.

'Yeah, I mean if they were... spying on them, for example. Would you tell the police about it, or try and keep quiet and fix it yourself? What if your friend is really good at getting out of trouble and _you're_ really good at getting _into_ it, and they want you to try and stay _out_ this time. Should you just let them fix things themselves?

Mr Stewart seems to think about this for a moment. Chris clings to his seat as they round a corner at sixty miles per hour, and wonders how Mr Stewart can drive like this _and_ think at the same time. 'You're talking to the wrong guy for that kind of stuff, I'm afraid, Chris.'

'Oh.' Yeah, Chris had thought as much. 'But you knew before, right? When Sonic and the others were going to go home, you...' _Understood then_, he thinks. But it's a little too embarrassing to say aloud.

'I see. So this _is_ about Sonic.'

Chris stays quiet. No sense in denying it. There's silence for a little longer except for the sound of the car's engine (which sounds strangely like the turbo propulsion of the X-Tornado's engine). 'Chris, you remember once before, I told you that everything was going to be okay?

'Yeah.'

And it _was_ okay in the end, wasn't it?'

'Sure, I guess. '

'Then believe me again. Everything will be fine, you'll see.'

'Everything?' Chris doesn't feel entirely convinced. A little voice inside of him is saying that Mr Stewart knows more about this than he's letting on, but since it's the same little voice that occasionally tells him to grab hold of hovercrafts while they're taking off, or trust Knuckles when he says that Eggman's being good for a change, Chris has been trying to ignore it.

'Yes. Everything. I promised you before and I'm promising again right now. Anyway, the problem you seem to have right now is deciding which you'd _prefer_ to do—' Mr Steward says, taking another corner very sharply at a speed that would've made Uncle Sam gawk. '—Risk getting yourself in trouble –and subsequently worrying your friend– to help them, or reassuring them that you'll be safe, no matter what happens by stayng clear. I do know one thing for sure, though: I wouldn't want to leave any of my friends alone if I thought they were in trouble.'

Chris looks at his former teacher in surprise. That kind of doesn't sound like the "stay out of bother" advice he's used to getting from his grandpa or from Sonic. His knapsack slips under the chair and spills half of its contents as the car takes a speed bump at twenty miles per hour over the suggested limit. 'Whoa!'

'Whoops. Sorry, Chris, got a little carried away with the nostalgia there, I think.' Mr Stewart slows the car down quickly at an upcoming set of traffic lights, and Chris leans under the chair to grab a hold of it.

So he isn't sure exactly what or who it was that hits the car on the right hand side, but hit the car it does. Hard enough to force all four wheels off the ground for several seconds and smash something –Mr Stewart, probably–into the glass window besides him. Before Chris has the chance to react to the sight of his former teacher being half thrown out of his own car window in a shower of glass, the thing that hit them comes back for a second round and Chris's own head is slammed against the side of the car by the force of the impact, leaving stars flashing in front of his eyes and glass splintering into his face.

There's a moment of brief panic as he tries to reach out for his teacher, and then the car door is opening and someone –Chris can't see straight enough to figure out who–is grabbing hold of him by the neck and pulling him out sharply of the vehicle.

* * *

'This is Agent Stone asking for a status report on Code-Blue-Three-Six-One, over.'

'...'

Chalkboard Charlie, this is Agent Stone, requesting information on the Code-Blue-Three-One-Six, please respond, over.'

'...'

'Charlie? Can you confirm your location?'

'...'

'Hey, Franklyn! Are you there? Come on, speak up! I swear, you'd better not have your communicator switched off aga—'

**'..._'_**

'Oh no.'

'Topaz? Hey, what's keeping you down there, some of us have a date to keep with a jeweller's... Uh oh. Lady, tell me that look on your face means you just realised you left an oven on, or something.'

'The connection's been cut.'

'Oh. So that means we're screwed, right?'

'_Completely _screwed.'

* * *


	15. Nelson

**You know, what with my name-related-chapter titles, I had a little trouble deciding who was more important in this one, and therefore which of them to name it after. I went for Nelson in the end, since he's more plot relevant. Though I will say that writing Tanaka's part was one of the most fun parts of this story so far (yes I am a strange person who likes writing characters and interaction better than battles and humour. Go figure). **

**Once again I must apologise for the lateness of this post. Standard disclaimers apply. Reviews and concrit are appreciated. **

* * *

Nelson. 

'Oh-kay, I like a little excitement to liven up my day job as much as the next bat, Topaz, but _this_—'

Franklyn looks up when Rouge's shadow falls over him, then realises how bad an idea that is because it tugs the already damaged muscles in his neck even further than they already are. (Turns out that getting thrown out of a car window isn't as easy to bounce back from as it was when he was twenty.) '—This is _not_ good quality drama.'

'No, it's more like raging overkill,' Topaz mutters (and it's a lot easier for him to look at her given that she's on his eye level and he doesn't have to strain anything). 'Whatever these people are after they're not shy about their means of getting it.'

'Yeah. I figured that when they rammed into my car.' Franklyn winces. Spending the last two hours in the ER knowing that he can't say a goddamn thing about what actually happened if he wants that kid kept safe has done nothing for his temperament.

'I'm serious, Franklyn.' Topaz really _does _sound serious and Franklyn can't blame her. 'I said it before and I'll say it again: we're _screwed_. CLIP has us right where they want us.'

'Not yet they don't,' Franklyn mutters. 'Okay, so we're in trouble right now, but let's just… try and keep our heads. That's what's written in our job description, right? "_if there's time to panic: don't_".'

'_That's_ written in your job description?' Rouge asks, sceptically.

'…Not in those exact words but basically, yes. Whatever CLIP is after they'll have to contact us sooner or later. It's not over until the fat lady sings.'

'Oh, come on, Franklyn,' Topaz says, 'They forced a car off the road in _broad daylight_, grabbed the son of one of the richest tycoons on the planet and his screen idol wife; not to mention a potential source of damaging information about Sonic the Hedgehog– and left a _note_ telling us not to talk to anyoneThese people are capable of anything. They _know_ that they can get away with it. I'm surprised we haven't already been arrested for no apparent reason.'

He hates to admit it, but Topaz is correct. CLIP is so far over the heads of the government that they're practically touching the stratosphere. Even GUN can't take them in without a damn good argument, and they don't have the evidence to prove anything. All they have is a ransom note that could've been written by anyone, and the hunches of some Doctor employed by the Government.

Franklyn's not sure which feels worse right now –the multiple pulled muscles in his neck and the cuts across his forehead, or the anxious sensation in his stomach that keeps rising up whenever he thinks 

of Christopher Thorndyke. He hasn't felt this useless since his cover was blown on a case four or five years ago and resulted in two people being killed.

He'd promised them that things were going to be okay back then, too.

'Well at least we don't have to dance around the point and watch our P's and Q's anymore, that's a positive.' Rouge says. 'Was getting a little tired of that, myself.'

'Meaning?'

'Well let's see, Topaz. We currently have a Bat, a TAC operative, a Secret Agen— I mean a News Reporte— I mean a School teach… Franklyn, what _are _you right now, anyway?'

'Second on the list,' Franklyn mutters.

Right. And a Reporter currently standing in the back yard of one of the richest celebrities on the planet, waiting around for the people who took their kid to call. We're now exactly what you'd call inconspicious. At least now we don't have to keep acting like nothing's the matter. They _know_ we're onto them so here's no point in hiding.'

'…She makes a good point.' Franklyn mutters.

'She makes a totally _redundant_ point,' Topaz snaps. 'CLIP _still_ has us tiptoeing around. Think about it: There are still a _few_ people who have control over what CLIP can and can't do. Included in those people are the president, Christina Cooper, and a few select generals. So CLIP is going to try and make sure we don't say anything to any of _them_. They're going to cut off every line of contact we have by threatening that kid.'

'Since when were you so pessimistic?'

'Since children got involved in this, Rouge, that's when,' Topaz shoots back. Apparently the events of the day have left her with no patience for her co-worker's sly wit. 'And anyway I'm being realistic, not cynical.'

'Then perhaps you'd like to consider another bit of realism,' Franklyn mutters. 'They're not going to hurt Chris.'

'And you're so sure of this… because why?' Rouge asks.

'_Because_ they can't get anything out of Sonic if they do: and I, for one, wouldn't want a guy who can fight at the _speed of sound_ too ticked off with me for hurting one of his friends; I doubt he cares about the potential lawsuits.' Franklyn says. 'And let's not forget that Thorndyke Industries has a logo on seventy percent of the city. They run some of the most high tech computer labs in the world. They have unlimited access to major areas of technology and science. All CLIP has to do is let Nelson Thorndyke know they have his son, and they have all that wrapped around their little fingers.'

'But like all hostages,' Topaz says, catching on, 'Chris is only useful if they can ascertain his safety. Or at least that he's _alive_.'

Franklyn nods. 'It seems unlikely that they'dgrab Chris _just_ because they wanted information about Sonic. Also wanting a shot at his father's company is the only explanation I can think of. I need to 

take another look at Doctor Crowley's reports… I might be able to get a better idea what they're after.'

'Where _is_ the good doctor, anyway?' Rouge asked, sounding interested for once. 'Still hanging around in that dreary office?'

'Not if she knows what's good for her. I told her to take a holiday but I'm starting to think we ought to get a message to her. Ironically, this is probably the safest place for her to be. Besides, it's because of her that we have half of the information we do.'

Topaz nods. 'Yeah, you're right. We kind of owe it to her to at least let her know what's going on. Besides, she's studied them. She knows how they're all likely to react in a crisis.'

As if in response to Topaz's comment, there is the sound of something heavy and solid colliding with something even heavier and more solid inside the house nearby, followed by an angry voice yelling.

'_Badly_, it sounds like,' Rouge says, raising an eyebrow.

'Well whatever they're after they probably need money,' Topaz sighs. 'More than they can believably fob off as necessities on the yearly financial plan. People would start asking questions if they took too much from the budget, which would explain why they want Thorndyke Industries…'

'And Thorndyke industries are famous for inspecting _exactly_ where every penny of their money goes,' Franklyn adds, remembering the reading he did before he took over Chris's class. 'It's one of their policies. There's no way that they would knowingly sponsor any kind of illegal activity. This means CLIP either had to put up a really convincing front that what they're doing is legal, or _blackmail_ money out of the company…'

Yeah. Kidnapping the founder's son seems like a good way to do that.

'But what _are_ they doing?' Topaz asks.

'Well, something tells me they don't want all that moolah for a shopping spree. So do either of you _know_ Malcolm Torn?' Rouge sounds as if she's asking as a vague curiosity rather than an important point.

'Good point,' Topaz sounds more intrigued. 'I mean, what kind of a person is he, anyway? What could he be after?'

Franklyn frowns, trying desperately to recall those vague, short meetings he'd had with the other departments of GUN. CLIP agents didn't tend to mix too much with others in their department.

'I've met him once or twice,' he mutters 'He's… an _imposing_ guy, but I guess that's to be expected of someone with a military background. He was promoted to General before receiving an injury in the line of duty, upon which he was moved to desk work and later ended up in CLIP. I don't know him well as a person but he never seemed like… well…'

'The kind of guy you'd take home to your mother?'

'You'll… have to ask a lady about that, Rouge, but basically, yes.'

'A Lady? And what do you call _me_?' Rouge mutters, sounding put out. Someone inside the household behind them is yelling again. It sounds like Amy Rose.

Definitely Amy Rose, in fact.

'Well whatever they're after I hope they're not going to drag it out,' Topaz says. 'All we can do is wait for them to contact us. In the meantime, the rest of the kid's family need to be informed about this. If anything happens to Chris—'

'Uh… What exactly _could_ happen to Chris?'

Franklyn freezes at the familiar voice, coming from close enough behind him for the owner to have heard what they were talking about. He swallows as he turns around and sees the look on Sonic's face. 'Uh...'

'Uh-oh,' Rouge mutters. 'Sorry, guys. You're on your own for this one.'

* * *

I'll say one thing: Lindsey Flair (also known as Thorndyke) is a passionate woman.

I've known this ever since I first saw her debut performance in "Three Sailors and a Lady". My mother is something of a fan of hers, so I've seen virtually every one of her movies. She always smiles for the cameras and speaks to reporters and acts "as if like she really means it", as mother would say.

There is more passion and emotion in Lindsey Flair's face now than I have ever seen in any of her films. I imagine she'd sound quite imposing if she weren't so constantly close to tears.

'Lindsey, sweetheart, this isn't helping anyone.'

'And what else would you have me do, Nelson?' she snaps. 'Merely sit here while those brutes do whatever they like with our child? He could be anywhere by this point, and you're trying to tell me that our own _government_ can't be trusted with finding him? That we simply have to… to bend to these monsters whims if we ever want to see our son alive?'

'Mrs Thorndyke, rest assured the odds of your son being harmed are…' Franklyn starts, then Topaz nudges him in the ribs. 'I mean... the odds are virtually nonexistent. I don't think he's in any particular danger.'

Mrs Thorndyke gives him a glare which, again, would probably be a more effective if she weren't _this_ close to an emotional breakdown, and is pretty powerful anyway in spite of it. 'My son was in a vehicle that was _rammed off the road _at sixty miles an hour, then dragged from it against his will, Mister Stewart. What precisely about that do you understand as meaning he is in _no danger_?'

Topaz seems to draw a breath. She's doing exactly what I am –perching on the very edge of the sofa like she's afraid of denting the leather. There are two people – a housekeeper, I think, and a butler of some kind– standing at the back of the room wearing the same anxious expressions, but not saying anything. The butler looks kind of like he wants to curse something. 'Miss Thorndyke, I know it's difficult, but I promise, this is all… dramatic _acting_ on their parts. CLIP thinks that by convincing us they'll do _anything_ we won't take any chances.'

'Then they're succeeding. I happen to know a bit about _acting_, Miss Stone,' Lindsey says. 'And there _is_ such a thing as hyperbole.'

Topaz says nothing. She looks more uncomfortable than any of us, but we're all basically feeling the same thing. Anger coupled with uselessness. We're professionals and screwing up isn't something any of us is used to. The same is true of Mrs Thorndyke whom I figure is being held upright only by her husband's hand on her shoulder.

'Look, we don't know what they're after and we don't care, but whatever they want, we'll pay it, none of this is necessary.'

'We know that, Mr Thorndyke, but this may not just be about money,' I add. Everyone looks at me instantly and it takes all my self control not to shudder. I know it's my imagination, but… it's difficult not to feel as if I'm being accused of something.

Well… I _was_ brought here to offer useful information, so be damned if I'm not going to try and do just that. 'I mean, that's probably _partly_ what they're after –we won't know for sure until they call. But we already know that this isn't just about your family. This whole thing goes beyond the government. Beyond anything I've ever dealt with before.'

Mr Thorndyke runs a hand across his face. 'You… you're the psychologist who's been looking into Sonic and the others, aren't you? Your people showed up here at some... god forbidden hour of the morning, talking about these… _tests_. Did you _know_ anything about this? About what those people were planning?'

'I… I'm not sure, but whatever I do know I'll tell you,' I say. 'Mister Thorndyke, I'm sorry, I know it was my case notes which gave CLIP the information they need. But I swear I wasn't aware of their plans, I would never endorse kidnapping.'

I'm not sure whether be believes me, but he chuckles humourlessly. He looks to me like a man who has feared something like this happening for years. 'Well who _could_ be aware of a crazy plan like this, eh? My son gets kidnapped by a bunch of maniacs who're in control of most of the government because some... some _extra terrestrial blue hedgehog_ decided to land in our swimming pool.' The fist which isn't holding his wife's shoulder clenches tightly. 'If it's _Sonic_ that they're after then why bring _Chris_ into this? Why bring _any of us_ into it? It's not _our_ issue, we didn't ask for them here.'

I wince again, though this time, it's because I know that most of the people from Sonic's world are outside of the doors trying to listen in without being too conspicuous. Mister Thorndyke probably doesn't mean to sound so… _angry_, but…

'Nelson, enough,' someone says: it's the older man who, until now, has been standing by the door with his arms folded and his head bent. I recognize him. His name is Professor Charles Thorndyke –renowned physicist and mechanic, known throughout the engineering world for his theories and experiments into new and advanced forms of energy usage and propulsion. The Thorndyke Family is filled with people like this: geniuses, businessmen, actresses. They're one of those families you read about in newspapers and never imagine living less than fifty miles away from you.

And yet not one of them can do a single thing about this situation.

'It's not Sonic's fault that all of this has happened anymore than it is Doctor Crowley's.' Professor Thorndyke goes on. 'How others respond to them isn't something they can help. The fact is we _are_ involved in all this. We have been ever since they came here. Let's not forget who aided Sonic in that break out at Area 99? Who had them put in for citizenship? Who agreed to forward them for the psychological studyin the first place? This isn't their world, but they still _live_ here and are classified as our responsibility.'

'Don't you think I _know_ that?' Mr Thorndyke snaps. He seems to stop himself and draw another breath in an attempt at calming down. 'I _do_ know; it's not their fault, but… _Damn it_. It just seems that if all of this had never happened to begin with… if they'd never…'

He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence we all know anyway. Lindsey Thorndyke catches her breath in a sob.

'There are a lot of things which would never have happened if they weren't here to begin with, Nelson,' Professor Thorndyke says. 'And most of them aren't _bad_ things. I'd like to think that all of them can call this place home. I'm as worried about Chris as any of us, but right now, Sonic and the others need to know that we're on their side.'

'And what exactly are we meant to _do_, dad...' Nelson says. 'If these CLIP people ask for _Sonic_?'

I look at the Professor. Of course. That was what we were worried about to begin with, wasn't it?

'…I don't know.' The professor says. 'We can't make Sonic's decisions for him, and ultimately any choice he makes will be his own. But I know he won't let anything happen to Chris if he can help it.'

'You can be sure of that?'

'As sure as anyone can be. I know them better than you do.'

'Ah… not to interrupt but... we don't know exactly _what_ they are after yet, do we?' Mr Stewart says, and all of a sudden I start wondering just how many people in this room _know_ exactly who and what he is and whether or not I should keep my mouth shut about the Secret Agent thing. He certainly doesn't seem very much like one from close up. Not by James Bond standards, anyway.

'No, but I think we'll find out soon.' Topaz answers. 'You saw that note, Franklyn: we're to keep our mouths shut until they contact us. Which could be at any time. Right now, it's all a question of waiting.'

Waiting. Ah. Not something I suppose anyone in the Thorndyke family is familiar with. I glimpse at the door wondering whether the others are still there, crouched outside of it, listening in on every word.

…The sound of the phone ringing would've been a welcome distraction, if it wasn't the call we're all hoping for and dreading at the same time.

* * *

'Ngh. Amy, you're on my _foot_.'

'Sorry, Cream. Tails, put your brushes down, I can't _see_!'

'_None of us _can see anyway, Amy, the door's only open a little crack.'

'Well I can't _hear_ either, shush!'

'Can I hear Mister Stewart in there, Tails?'

'I think so… what's _he_ doing here?'

'Who cares? He's not exactly important right now!'

'Chao, chao!'

'Cheese, _shush_, be a good boy now.'

'Urgh, this is ridiculous, we look like a bad attempt at a cheerleading pyramid. What're they _saying_?'

'Well, they're… talking about that CLIP faction or something… and about us.'

'See? Told ya it was something to do with us.'

'What about Chris, have they said anything about him?'

'…'

'Tails? Come on, what're they _saying_?'

'I… I don't think this is good, guys.'

'Oh dear… Sonic's not going to be very happy.'

'Never mind Sonic, _I'm_ not very happy! What do those rotten, good for nothing, creepy, sneaky CLIP Agents think they're—'

'Amy!'

'…Sorry. It just… Urgh. This whole thing makes me so _mad_. And what's Doctor Crowley doing in there when we're _not_ anyway?'

'I thought you liked Miss Ella, Amy?'

'I _did_, but I just know that she has something to do with this. Why _else_ would she be here? Maybe it's not her fault that Chris is missing, but _she's_ the one who did those stupid tests… I can't believe I told her all that stuff about us! I should've known—'

'Oh, Amy, it's not Miss Ella's fault this happened.'

'Well whose fault _is it_, then? Chris could be anywhere by now and we're just standing around doorways listening to them talking about it! That doesn't seem especially proactive to me... And can I hear the phone ringing?'

'…Uhoh, I think they're leaving, come on, guys, move!'

* * *

I don't really know how I came to be here.

Oh, I'm aware of the _literal_ process alright (I was driven here in a –presumably armoured– car, by an anxious looking Topaz; told to keep my head down the whole time, then told I was staying here for as long as was necessary, then I got lost trying to find the room I've been put in because damn, this palace is _big_). I'm just not sure _why_ I'm here. I don't know how I went from being an ordinary Psychologist sitting in her oversized office one day to a potential CLIP target the next. But here I am nonetheless, wandering around a house that even someone on a government salary can't afford (I don't get paid as much as people think I do). I think, were it not for our circumstances, I would be more afraid of spilling my tea on one of these expensive carpets than anything else.

Yeah. Looking at his upbringing, his genetics and his heritage, I can honestly say that Christopher Thorndyke turned out a lot better (and less bratty) than he potentially could've. I've seen environments like this _ruin_ a kid. Like that thirteen year old Chess Master I worked with, once.

Twelve years old. God _damn it_. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in this.

I've spent the last few hours thinking about how Sonic might react if he were in my shoes. At some point, I suppose he was: but on a much grander scale. _I_ just have to worry about being turned out of my office. _He_ has to worry about having been ejected from his own _universe_. Still, I know from our session together that he's the kind of person (creature? Being?) who just shrugs his shoulders and gets on with things.

I am _not_ Sonic the Hedgehog. I don't like unexpected changes. , and right now, I think I'm less in control than I've ever been before.

And anyway, this isn't just about Sonic. This is about one of his _friends_ and that makes all the difference. I think about what I wrote in my final report. _When a threat does present itself a staggering change in his personality takes place. He becomes intensely focussed and appears to undergo a complete psychological transformation. _

A complete psychological transformation. From a harmless, flippant drifter who leaves hotdog crumbs on people's carpets, to a single-minded, unstoppable living weapon. This is just the kind of situation that would provoke that reaction in Sonic the Hedgehog.

I'm passing the door to a study when I hear the quiet, annoyed humming of two people arguing. It's the kind of muted spat that only people who know each other extremely well can have, with anger and frustration being batted around like ping pong balls and not a single voice being raised. I only know it's an argument because of the tones of their voices.

Or else, it was an argument until recently. Now the atmosphere on the other side of the door feels faint and tired. It's something you grow capable of sensing after enough years of studying peoples every nuance.

'…Really shouldn't be arguing, I swear, Lindsey can _sense_ us fighting through the walls or something.'

'I know, I know… Anyway we're not fighting, are we?'

'I'd say we are.'

I don't realise that I'm listening in on a private conversation until it's too late for me to pull way. My curiosity gets the better of me. I lean in closer to the door.

'Heh… what you say goes, dad. It's always been that way.'

'…Not always.'

Nelson Thorndyke, I realise, leaning just a little closer. I can't help my nosiness. Blame it on my psychological training.

'Lindsey alright?' I hear Professor Thorndyke speaking. Except that it's not the same assured voice that I heard earlier. Not quite.

'Yes. Actually, she's being a lot more… well… Rational than I would've expected. She's with Ella right now.'

'Hm.' There's the sound of a book snapping shut. 'One thing I've learned in the last fifteen years is that while it's dangerous to underestimate a Thorndyke, it's even _more_ dangerous to underestimate a person who _marries_ one. Lindsey is a tougher woman than most of her on screen personas…'

'Still she shouldn't have to be, dad. She doesn't deserve this, neither of us do.'

'I know that…' the professor's voice is soft and pained. 'I know… but there's not much else we can do about it now. CLIP has made their demands.'

'And I'll pay them whatever they want. They could ask for ten times what they did and they _know_ that. But that doesn't change the fact that I can't give them what they _really_ want… I can't give them Sonic, and I can't… I can't give them information which isn't mine to give.'

There's a chill right up my spinal column. '…There's nothing I _can_ say that will change any of this.'

'I won't accept that,' Nelson answers, anger in his voice again. 'You must know _something_.'

'Don't you think I'd tell you? I'm not even sure what I _do_ know is relevant of any of this... I don't know if it's connected at all.'

'Well I think it's worth saying anyway, we're talking about your grandson's life!'

I take a step away from the door. Mostly on impulse.

'Well?'

'...You already know everything that I know, son. We never mentioned names. It\was never an issue. Not in our family.'

'Yes, and I remember the stories you used to tell me.' There's a dry, humourless chuckle in Nelson Thorndyke's voice as he speaks. Professor Thorndyke too sounds almost amused when he answers.

'Ah yes. We had a few of those, didn't we?'

'Hm. Don't think I didn't notice that the stories changed a little every time...' I sense the subject almost-but-not-quite changing. 'You know that it never mattered, dad.'

I wait, fingernails gripping the patterned surface of the wall paper, not quite daring to press my ear to the door in order to listen closer. 'I don't know exactly what these... CLIP agents are threatening us with, dad. And I don't care. All I care about is my son.'

'As do I...'

That's all I have the chance to hear before I realise I'm no longer the only person standing silently outside of the study door.

The Butler caught me.

I'm not a short woman. I'm taller than a lot of my male colleagues', actually. The heels only add to the effect. This man is about the same height as me including those heels, yet I don't feel like I could stand my own in an argument with him. I feel like a kid caught watching television through a crack in the living room doorway after I should've gone to bed.

'Doctor Crowley, I presume.'

God. He sounds just like one of those butlers you read about in old fashioned novels. Right down to the peering-over-his-spectacles. He even has a towel folded over one arm. 'Uh, yes. That's me. I was looking for... um... I'm sorry, I got lost, I didn't mean...'

_Really_ wondering how I got my job.

He looks at me for a moment longer. Why does it feel like everyone is analysing me today?

'There are two types of people in this world, Miss Crowley' he says. 'The kind who deliberately invade others privacy for nothing more than their own curiosity, and the kind who simply cannot help what they overhear.' He adjusts his spectacles. 'I believe you fall into the second camp.'

Well, he's almost right. Close enough for me to relax a little bit, even if I'm sure my face is still the colour of beetroot. 'Um. You know my psychological case notes would probably tell me there are more than those two.'

'Indeed. You mentioned being lost. Might I escort you back to my room?'

He holds out an arm to me. I don't think I've ever met a real Butler who would escort people around like that. It's... courteous, in an old fashioned way.

'Oh. Right,' I take hold of his arm because it seems neither polite nor sensible to refuse, and then we're walking away from the door and back in the direction I came from. 'I'm sorry; I didn't mean to cause trouble.'

'If you are referring to our current business with CLIP then rest assured, no one in this household blames you.' He says. 'Though Miss Amy might seem irate it isn't truly you to whom she feels aggression. And if you mean being lost... I have never known a person able to find their way around this household upon their first visit.'

'Right.' I'm not sure why that makes me feel relieved. 'Where are they? The Galaxy X people, I mean.'

'Most have retired to their rooms, and though I cannot account for Mister Sonic's whereabouts that is usually the case with him.

I smile. 'Makes sense. He must be worried about all this.'

The butler stays silent for a second. We keep walking, 'I have never known Master Sonic to _worry_... only _act_.'

'Then you think he's acting now?' I don't know why I'm asking, because I already know the answer. What else would Sonic the Hedgehog do?

'I would be more surprised if he were here. But I do fear his actions may not help our situation.'

I know where I am now: my room's less than two doors away. 'I hope they're all alright. It must be hard on them, thinking they have something to do with what CLIP is planning.'

'If I were to blame anyone for this situation it would not be our guests.'

Ah. I know _that_ tone of voice. I've heard it enough times. '...You think it's your fault?'

'It is my duty to protect this family. By not following my instincts more closely and confusing my priorities, I have failed in that.'

I open my mouth to argue –heck; he's a butler, not a bodyguard, right? Then I realise he's probably trained as both. A Thorndyke employee is sure to be a multi-tasker. But still... 'That's not true. No one could have predicted this.'

'Indeed. Not even yourself Doctor Crowley.'

It takes me a second to realise that this is his way of letting me know that it's not my fault.

He must have a good memory because he stops outside just the right doorway. This place feels like a hotel. I guess in some ways it is. An _extra dimensional_ hotel inhabited by creatures you wouldn't believe existed if you didn't live in Station Square.

'But still. It's because of my research that CLIP knew what to look for. I've helped them so much without even realising... They even know Sonic's weaknesses because of me.'

'Perhaps. Or perhaps you read too deeply into your role, doctor. In circumstances such as this, it is easy to push blame on various individuals, including yourself.'

'And... Including Sonic?'

'...Yes. But you must understand, doctor: My employers work extremely hard. They are constantly away from home. This means they can support themselves and maintain their responsibilities. However, it also means that Master Chris was often alone. He has never been the type of child who makes friends easily.'

'I see.' I can believe that. I know isolation myself. I can empathise. 'He must've been lonely.'

'He was. But the arrival of Sonic and his friends has given Master Chris more than it can ever take away. I don't believe that Chris would want Sonic to surrender himself for his sake, even if that is what CLIP demands.'

'Hm. I don't think the poor kid doesn't have much say in the matter. I guess we both know what Sonic will do.'

'It is likely.'

There's quiet for a moment. I hate silences in this place. Mostly because with all the strange people living here, it doesn't feel like it _should_ be silent at all. It should be filled with voices and arguments and general childishness.

Then again, it _is_ getting late...

'I'm... sorry, I didn't catch your name?'

'My maiden name is Tanaka, madam.'

'Takana...' A Chinese name. Like my mother. I figured. 'Well. Thank you, Tanaka.' I sigh, opening the door to my temporary room. 'And sorry again. I guess there must be a lot of listening in around closed doorways here, lately, mustn't there?'

Tanaka looks at me. Being with him now (and having gotten over some of my earlier embarrassment), he doesn't seem nearly so intimidating. In fact, he seems to be holding that professional attitude together with barely a few threads of composure and some uniform starch.

'Butler's quandary, Miss Crowley. We hear much of which we cannot speak.'

* * *


	16. Interlude II

**Yup. We're up to another Interlude now. Hopefully things won't get any more complicated after this, but they probably will. Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. Uni, you know? Standard disclaimers apply and reviews and concrit are, as always, very much appreciated. **

* * *

Interlude.

It takes him a couple of minutes to realise what that weird, ringing noise is. It's this tinny jangling that sounds as if it's trying to be one of those pop songs Helen listens to, and is failing miserably. At first, he can't work out where a noise like that could be coming from, way out here in the middle of the desert... and then he remembers the cell-phone.

Sonic stops running.

_Blip_. 'Uh... hi?'

'..._Sonic? Is that you_?'

'Sure it is. Who else would it be?'

'_Whew, thank goodness_.' Amy Rose breaths. '_You had me so worried! Don't you know that CLIP is probably looking for you? _And_ you've been out all night; it's almost dawn here! _Everyone_ is waiting; Grandpa Chuck needs to talk with us _right_ now_ _and_— _Wait, you actually have that thing _with_ you_?'

'Huh? Oh, the cell-phone. Yeah, I guess I do.' Sonic scuffs his feet in the sand and wonders how long this is going to take.

'..._Wow. You've never even _touched_ that cell since he gave it to you_. _I thought you'd lost it._'

'Yeah, me too, but I guess it was right here all along.' Sonic stands as still as he can in the middle of the dunes and wonders whether he's been here before. It's kind of hard to tell. Most deserts look the same.

There's an uncomfortable silence which lasts a lot longer for him than it must for Amy. Then there's a metallic sighing sound. '_Oh_, _Sonic; what're you _looking_ for_?'

Sonic shuffles. 'I thought that was obvious.'

'Yeah, _I thought so too, at first. And then I realised you're probably not going to look for Chris in the middle of the desert. You might act a little dumb sometimes, Sonic, but you're not _that_ thick headed._'

'Yeeeah, glad y'think so,' Sonic mutters, kicking at the sand. He wants to _run_, but he can't do that and talk at the same time, and Amy will only get mad at him if he hangs up... And then he realises something. 'Wait, how'd you know I'm in the Desert?'

'_Look _up.'

Sonic does. It's so far above him that it's barely a blip in the crystal clear night air, but he can just make out the small biplane far over his head. The X-Tornado. Version One. 'Oh... Hey.'

'_Hey there,' _Amy sounds amused._ 'So are you gonna come home with us now?'_

'Home, eh? An' where's _that_?' Sonic finds himself muttering. Honestly? He isn't too familiar with this whole "Home" concept. Sonic lives on rooftops and in open stretches of dirt with nothing in his way for miles. Home is the desert and the mountains and the Thorndyke's backyard and the tree branches outside of Helen's house, and it's not like you can _own _the desert or the branches of trees, right? In fact, Sonic is pretty sure that their time with the Thorndyke's is the longest he's ever stayed in one place his whole life (unless you count Tails' workshop, and it's not like he really _lives_ there). And now...

Well. _Now_.

'_What? Sonic, what did you just say_?'

'...Never mind. Amy, aren't you gonna hang up or something?'

'_No, I'm _not_ going to hang up. Don't be so rude_,' Amy snaps. '_I'm trying to be concerned about you here. You've been running around for _hours_ and it hasn't gotten us anywhere_.'

Sonic shrugs. Then he remembers Amy can't _see_ him. Cell-phones are irritating.

'_Sonic are you still there? Say something.' _

'Like what?'

'_Oh, I don't know; _anything_! Reassure me! Tell me you're not going to do anything stupid._'

'Okay, I'm not gonna do anything stupid.'

'_You didn't mean that_!' Amy retorts. Then she sighs. '_Well on the bright side, there isn't really anything you _can_ do, is there? You're just running around in circles, like usual. Except that this time you've got nothing you can run _at_... I guess that's probably why you're _still_ running, isn't it?'_

Sonic spends ten seconds trying to fathom what Amy is talking about, then gives up. 'Say what?'

'_It's quite simple, Sonic,_' Amy says, with the voice of someone who knows exactly what they're talking about. '_You're upset and worried, just like we all are. You can't find the answers you need, so you're running around searching for them_...'She pauses, as if to check he's still listening_._ '_But you _still_ can't find any answers, and that upsets you even more, so you run _faster_. And you _keep_ running because that's all you've _ever_ done. You don't know how else to deal with all the feelings racing round your head, so you run away from them. Don't try to deny it_. _You do it all the time with _me.'

...Ouch. That one hits a nerve, though Sonic isn't certain why or _which_ nerve in particular. He sits down in the sand and finds himself imagining the dunes as the dust-red tiles of a rooftop. 'Man, you've been listening to that psychology-lady way too much, Amy.'

'_Hm_. _Well she might've gotten us into some serious trouble here, but she still talks a lot of sense when it comes to getting inside your head_,' Amy chuckles.

'So what answers do you think I'm lookin' for? I don't get it.'

'_Yes you do,' _Amy says, softly._ 'You're looking for the same answers we all are. You want to know why we've been involved in this. Why _Chris_ was involved in it. You want to know what CLIP wants, why humans do such crazy things; and why we have to be stuck on this planet dealing with all this in the first place instead of back home, where we belong, and where everyone accepts us_.'

...It's actually a little creepy how she's doing this. Still, that's one heckuva lot of questions. 'I'm looking for answers to _all_ of those questions? Nobody can think _that_ much, Amy. They'd explode!'

'_Sonic_.' Amy says firmly..

'Yeah, yeah, I know,' Sonic sighs. 'I don't suppose you've found some of those answers already, have ya?'

'_Not really,_' Amy admits. '_But_ _my guess? Is that we're not gonna find _any_ of them in the desert._'

Sonic can't say anything to that, so he just sits there in the sand and listens to the X-Tornado whirring far overhead. '_Hey, Sonic_,' another voice calls –Tails' voice. '_You know, we passed one of those men who you left scattered around the planet a little while ago. Why don't we go ask _him_? He's sure to know _something_ about what CLIP is up to, right?_'

'Nah, I already tried him. He wouldn't tell me anything. Just kept going on about right hands and left hands or something.' Sonic mutters. He _doesn't_ mention that even threatening to blast the guy in the face with a bolt of Chaos Control hadn't worked. Neither had threatening to take away the map he had so graciously provided. 'CLIP is _really_ hush-hush about this kidnapping stuff... And do you know this cell-phone thingy makes Amy sound like she's blowing her nose on a metal tissue?'

'_I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that_,' Amy mutters.

'_Sonic, we understand that you're worried,'_ Tails says._ 'We're _all_ a little scared right now. But... Amy's right. I don't think that running around is gonna fix things this time, do you?_' Tails waits patiently for an answer that Sonic will never give. It doesn't matter. Tails can read Sonic's silences as easily as if he's yelling. '_What _will_ help, is you coming back to the mansion so we can talk about all this together_.'

'Aw _man_, you mean _Talk_-talk?' Sonic groans.

'_Heh_. _Yeah_,' Tails sounds amused now too. '_With serious faces and lots of sitting still and everything. You'll get Chris back, Sonic. _We'll_ get him back. But first we have to work out _how_. Right?_'

Sonic smiles to himself. Yeah, that's Tails alright. His brain always has been too big for the rest of him.

''Kay. On one condition.'

'_Of course_.'

Sonic looks up, smiling. 'Get the tornado down here so's I can talk to you two in person? I really _don't _like these cell-thingies.'

* * *

Sonic spends a few moments thinking after the Professor finishes his explanation, before speaking. 'So... that's it?'

'That's it,' Grandpa says.

The resulting dull silence is probably not what he was hoping for, but it's all that we can offer. He _has_ just presented us with the strangest rescue plan I've ever heard (and coming from somebody who watches "_Street Cops: New York!_" on the Crime and Punishment Channel, that's saying something).

'Oh.' Tails shuffles uneasily. 'Um. Yeah. That _is_ a little risky.'

'Replace the words "a little" with "seriously" and the word "risky" with "screwball" and you're getting closer to the mark, Tails,' Amy mutters. 'You really think this'll work, grandpa? It's probably the _strangest_ idea you've ever come up with.'

'Ah, actually, it was Rouge who came up with most of it,' Professor Thorndyke says (and you have no idea how weird it is, to hear a bunch of alien anthropomorphs calling one of the most renowned men in science "grandpa"). 'I just made it a little more... workable. Of course, the idea will have to be modified depending upon circumstances. We have no idea yet how CLIP plans to conduct this little "exchange". But I believe it's sound and adaptable. Mostly.'

This earns Rouge a few surprised (not to mention suspicious) glances. I can't say I blame them. I'd find this a lot harder to believe myself, were it not for the hour Rouge and I spent together, and my meeting with Agent Topaz.

'Looks like nobody trusts me around here, huh?' Rouge smirks. 'Not that you have much _choice_. Think about it. It's _Sonic_ that they're really after. The money's probably just a nice side dish. So if they're given a choice between the money and Sonic...'

'They can _have_ the money, at any rate,' Lindsey says. I look at her, and try to pick out the glamorous actress currently hidden beneath tired eyes, chewed nails and a total absence of makeup. It's... difficult. 'Even if it meant anything, I wouldn't want to touch it after it's been in their _filthy_ hands.'

'I second that notion,' Nelson says. 'But I _still_ don't see much sense in following the advice of a known _criminal_ where my son's life is concerned.'

'Hey I'm _more_ than happy to leave,' Rouge shrugs. 'But let's face it: you haven't come up with any better ideas, and this _criminal_ is one of the few members of the government you can trust. Look at how CLIP has behaved so far. They think they have us so tied up right now that they can afford to miss a few things. They're taking dangerous risks. So should we.' Rouge says. She looks Nelson Thorndyke right in the eyes, which gives _me_ an excuse to look at him too. I'm still thinking about what I heard in the study last night...

Rouge is right. We all know it; some of us are just having a harder time admitting it than others. I wouldn't be so bold as to say I understand Rouge, but I know this much: she doesn't _really_ think her precious jewels are worth more than a twelve year olds life. Plus it takes a thief to catch a thief, and she knows a lot about underhanded sneak tactics.

And that's what this whole scheme is, basically: just one giant sneak tactic. There's no way any of the people in this room could've come up with a plan quite like it. Except maybe for Mister Stewart and... Well... oddly enough, _he_ hasn't actually offered much useful input. He's currently standing by the patio window with his back to us and his hands rammed deeply into the pockets of the jacket he's been wearing since yesterday. I wonder if he's afraid of blowing his cover...

'Doctor Crowley?' Topaz says. 'What do you make of this?'

'What, me? Um… Well, I'm not really in a position to judge the... success rate of something like this. I'm a psychiatrist, Topaz, not a military strategist.' (Isn't that supposed to be _her_ job?)

'But still, you must have some input to offer,' the professor adds. Great. now everyone's looking at me again.

'Well I... I guess that logically this isn't _impossible_ to pull off.' (Tricky, sure, but not impossible.) 'And sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.'

'See? The Doc knows what I'm talking about,' Rouge says. 'If CLIP thinks their hot-headed tactics are keeping us on our toes, we'll just have to throw the wildest ideas in our _own_ arsenal back at them.'

'Well this plan certainly qualifies as _wild_, I'll say that much.' Nelson Thorndyke mutters, still seeming the least convinced. He's gripping his wife's hand so tightly I think he's cutting off her circulation. Not that she seems to care.

'I think Sonic should decide what we do,' a small voice says.

I don't think anyone noticed Cream there. I don't think anyone noticed _any_ of them; Amy, Tails and even Knuckles is standing in the doorway. They're all wearing the same expression: anxiety mingled with resolve and a little conviction thrown in for good measure. 'After all, he's the one who has to make everything work, isn't he? He's the one the nasty people want.'

'That's right,' Tails nods in agreement. 'It should be Sonic's decision.'

Cream looks up at me with a smile, and I get the distinct feeling that I know what they're doing. I've seen those expressions in the faces of patients who feel as if they're been cut out of something in their lives unfairly. It's almost as if they're ascertaining their _right_ to be where they are. "_We're here. We're staying. And if CLIP doesn't like it... well, then they're just going to have to _deal_ with it_."

I turn to face Rouge, who looks back at me and winks. And now every one of those self assured expressions turns to look at Sonic, standing behind me, leaning against the settee. He's not looking at anyone. He's simply standing there with his eyes closed, his face downturned and his arms folded across his chest. This entire plan hinges on him. He knows it, too. He's always known. It's just never bothered him quite so much before.

'Well then, Sonic? What do you say?'' Nelson asks, without a trace of his earlier anger. He sounds about as humble as you _can_ sound when you're asking someone to risk their life for the sake of another.

Not that Sonic ever _needs_ to be asked.

'Hey, I'll go with whatever you guys come up with,' he grins, giving me that wink I've seen so many times, plastered on newspaper covers and in magazines. 'So long as you're quick about it.'

I'm not quite sure why this sentence makes almost everyone in the room –even Mrs Thorndyke– smile, but... it does. It's as if Sonic's agreement counts for everything, and now that we _have_ it, this whole idea doesn't seem so crazy. His philosophy that you can do anything if you just go fast enough must be rubbing off on us.

'Well. Then I guess we'd better be, huh?' the professor chuckles, amused by something no one else can quite place a finger on. 'We wouldn't want to keep Chris waiting.'

* * *

Of course, there is _one_ problem: we have to wait for CLIP to make their next move.

Waiting. Again. It's evening now, and we've been through the plan (if you can really call it that) so many times that I could recite it word for word in my sleep. This doesn't make me feel any better, or make it sound any less insane.

For most of the last few hours, Rouge has been sitting by the swimming pool, examining her gloves and flicking invisible dust off her shoes. If I didn't know better I'd think she didn't much care about this mess. Her continued presence, however, seems to confirm that she _does_. Enough to get in legal trouble, at least.

Then again, she _is_ a thief. Maybe that kind of thing just doesn't matter to her.

'...Rouge?'

'You know it's not polite to sneak up on a lady,' Rouge says, without turning. 'Swanky place this, huh? Heated pool, thirty seven rooms, top of the line security... It's almost enough to make a girl jealous.'

'Mm,' I agree, before catching onto what she's saying. 'Wait, you're not messing with the Thorndykes security are you?'

'Well, you _heard_ what Miss Filmdom City said about _money_... I don't suppose she'd miss a few of those pretty necklaces she has in a locked box in the Master Suite either.'

_Definitely_ a thief. That probably isn't a fact about Rouge I should allow myself to forget any time soon, no matter how intriguing I find her.

'Uh... Rouge I don't think that'd be a—'

Rouge sniggers. 'Relax, Doc. Like I'd be dumb enough to steal anything from this place with that crazy butler around.'

'Oh. Right... Um. Rouge? The plan we were talking about earlier...'

'You mean the one you've been through so many times that it's giving me earache?'

'Yeah, that one. Was that _really_ your idea?'

'Well I reckon the professor is being a tiny bit generous there. I might be a thief, but I can't steal _all_ the credit for that highly organized fiasco.'

'Then why are you here?'

'Hey, I never said it wasn't a _workable_ fiasco. It'll just take a few strong nerves and even faster wits to pull off, is all. And where _Sonic _is involved...'

'Yes, but that's not what I meant,' I say. 'I meant why are you doing this at _all_? Helping us devise plans and then sticking around to see the outcome. Come on, Rouge. You can't play mind games with me.'

'True enough,' Rouge shrugs, stretching her wings. 'Mostly? It's because of Topaz.'

'Topaz?'

'Yeah. I guess. _Someone_ in GUN has gotta bat for her side. She's just like any other human in this world: she wants to do her job _well_. Letting some boy get kidnapped on her watch –by people in _her_ department– wasn't a good start.' Rouge gives me an analysing look. 'Hey, keep that bit of info to yourself, okay, Doc? Call it Client Confidentiality.'

I nod, realising that I never thought about it that way: how must _Topaz_ be feeling now? With most of the people she worked with and trusted either in league with the bad guys, or at least unintentionally aiding them. 'Of course.'

'Hm.' Rouge doesn't seem sure whether she believes me, or not. 'It's ironic, don't ya think?'

'Ironic?'

'Topaz,' Rogue explains. 'She was such an authoritarian _hard case_ when we first met. Seriously. You could've gotten better conversation out of a chunk of diamonds. And now all those things she believed in and put on that stiff upper lip for are being thrown in her face... All because of some Hedgehog.' Rouge looks puzzled for a moment. 'Kinda a lot of trouble to go to for just him, isn't it?'

She stands, examining her gloves and glimpsing upwards into the evening sky. Her eyes are changing colour in the dim light, adjusting to the darkness the way I suppose all bats' eyes do. 'Besides, I guess that, in a funny way? We kind of owe the kid.'

'Owe him?'

'There an echo in here, honey?' Rouge rolls her eyes. 'Yeah. Owe him. For Space Colony ARK.'

_That_ bit puzzles me. I know all about the ARK incident and the part Chris played in it, but I don't see what it has to do with her. 'How exactly does that impact upon _you_?

Rouge gazes at me for one long instant, still smiling that calculating smile. 'Hey, you're the so-called psychologist, Doc,' she says, flicking her wings and rising. 'You tell me.'

That Rouge... As soon as I think I've gotten her figured out...

I stay quite still after Rouge has gone, gazing out across the swimming pool. There's moonlight glittering on the water. It must be almost eight pm by now. Well over twenty-four hours since Christopher Thorndyke vanished. He now officially counts as a missing person. Or he _would_ if we could actually _tell_ anyone about his disappearance. I hate the fact that we can't. I hate the fact that I don't know who I can trust. I hate the fact that I can't go home, no matter how much I want to...

'Hey there.'

'Wha—!?'

...I hate people _sneaking up on me_ the way Sonic just did. I turn, stumble, and go over on my heels dangerously close to the edge of the swimming pool. And then there's a hand wrapped around my wrist pulling me away from the water just in time to save me from an unexpected bath. 'Hey, watch out, Doc.'

I take a second to balance myself (how do you gather your dignity in front of a blue hedgehog, anyway?) 'Oh... Sonic. Thanks.'

'Yeeeah sorry about that,' he scratches his ear in that familiar way. 'Kinda thought you were psychic an' knew I was coming, or something.'

I have to snigger. 'Me, psychic?'

Sonic shuffles. 'Yeah well… Amy _knows_ stuff she didn't know before talking to you,' he says. 'It's creepy.' I have to snigger, and I think Sonic might be smiling a little too. 'Trust me, you don't wanna fall in there, I already tried it. It's _wet_.' He seems to shudder visible.

'Go near it? It takes me a second to realise that he's referring to the water. 'Oh... right. Well most people like water. For... you know. Washing, drinking... stuff like that.' I decide that a visual demonstration is as good as anything. Besides, I'm tired of these heels. I pull them off, toss them over my shoulder and sit down on the pools edge, dipping my feet into the water. Rouge is right. It _is_ heated. 'See?'

Sonic stares at me as if I just bit the head off a live snake. It's actually funny. '... So I save ya from falling in the stuff and then you go and stick your feet in anyway?' Sonic looks confused and shakes his head. 'I don't understand humans.'

He sits down next to me anyway; his own legs aren't long enough for his feet to touch the water. 'So, Sonic… are you alright?'

'Who? Me? I'm cool,' he lies (when Sonic is lying it's about as obvious as a herd of elephants trundling through your living room).

'Really?'

'Really.'

'You're sure?'

'Sure I'm sure,' Sonic scratches his ear again, frowning up at the sky. 'I guess I wish this was all just Eggman's business as usual, though. His robots are easy to beat. All you've gotta do is hit 'em fast enough. He's taken Chris before, too, so I know how to deal.'

'Really?' I already know that.

'Yeah. _He_ did that to get to me, too. And he tries it with Amy sometimes. Or Tails,' Sonic frowns, as if trying to work out why this is so. 'They're good at getting into trouble an' I'm good at getting out of it. It works out.'

...He was never this talkative in the office. Not for most of the hour anyway. I'm not quite sure how to deal with it right now. So I picture my office in my mind. Imagine the couch and notepads and diplomas. Pretend that this is just another session with a new patient and that I'm not sitting in the garden of a movie star, dipping my toes in their swimming pool and talking to a hedgehog.

Doing this makes talking a lot easier. 'Except that... this time it doesn't work, does it? And it's not Eggman we're dealing with.'

'Guess not... At least I don't think it's him. You never know with Eggman.' He sighs, inspecting the water beneath him suspiciously, as if it's going to jump out of the pool and attack him. 'Amy's right, I guess: I've been running about for hours and it hasn't done us any good. And I'm pretty sure it's you putting all those weird know-it-all thoughts into her head, you know.' He looks at me accusingly.

'Sorry. Sometimes it's hard for me not to let things slip,' I look up at the sky. 'I guess I'm like you in a way, Sonic. I've always had trouble interacting with people.'

'Who's having trouble?' Sonic looks genuinely surprised. 'I talk to people just fine. You just open your mouth and words come out, right?'

'Well, superficially, yes, I suppose they do.' I say.

'Super-what-ally?'

'Superficially, Sonic. In other words we both try to look as if we're in control, even when we know we really aren't.' I kick the water with my feet. '...I look at people as if they're interesting subjects to be studied in my office. I don't even know how to _talk_ to them without sounding like a total doofus outside; not unless I've known them for a long time, anyway... Just like your friend, Chris,' I say, and then I pretend not to notice the way his hands clench into tight fists around the edge of the pool.

'Heh. Guess that's why he's so weird.' Sonic shrugs. There's no malice or anger in the way he says the word "weird"; he doesn't mean it as an insult. It's just another word to him, with no more force behind it than a name.

'Well I think I understand him well enough,' I say. 'Even though I only spoke with him for an hour.'

'Hey an hour's a long time for me, doc,' Sonic kicks his feet as close to the water as I imagine he dares. 'I can do a lot in that time.'

'Such as?'

Sonic seems to think about it. 'Well, there's a tonne of places I could get to right now from here.'

I grin. 'Like?'

'Lots of places,' he says again, shrugging like a child who knows the answer but doesn't have the words to explain it. 'Like those places with pyramids and camels. Or Africa. I've been to Africa lotsa times; there's plenty of space to run around. And China, too. D'you know how much of their food they eat _raw_ over there? It's weird. Even though ya all look the same, each country is completely different from all the others.'

I look at him for another few seconds out of the corner of my eye. He might be able to get to anywhere in the world from here just by wanting to, but there's one place he can't go. The only place he needs to find right now –where Chris is.

'I can't pretend that I understand things like that... that's why I became a psychologist.' I find myself chuckling morosely, and remember what I told Chris about laughter several days ago. How melancholy my own laughter must seem, now. 'Not just to teach myself how to understand other people, but to understand... myself.'

'Ohhh... I get it,' Sonic says after a moment. And you know? I really think he does. 'So that's what all this head case stuff of yours is about. But I still don't understand why you can't just ask straight questions if you want straight answers.'

'Mm. Sometimes I wonder that myself,' I murmur. With Sonic, you don't have to skip around your points or misdirect his attention. He'll answer whatever questions he _wants_ to answer, and he'll ignore the ones he doesn't. There's never any point in trying to wheedle answers out of him. You don't have to play mind games with him.

But you do with people like _Chris_. Otherwise you'll never find anything out. 'So what do you think Chris will do now, Sonic? How do you think he'll deal with all of this?'

'Chris? He'll freak out,' Sonic says without hesitation. 'But just for a little while. He's probably already done that by now.'

'And now?'

Sonic shrugs, 'I dunno. I don't think we've ever gotten this far without me.' He says.

* * *

'You know I've seen a lot of your mother's movies. She was in that period drama on TV the other week wasn't she? The _Lady in the River_ remake?'

'...'

'Heh. Guess it was past your bedtime. But she has talent, you know. I know a thing or two about the theatre myself, so I know a good actress when I see one. She really lives up to her stage name.'

'...'

'You aren't very talkative, huh? I can understand that. We haven't exactly put you in a comfortable situation. We're sorry about that. It's… Christopher, isn't it? Chris.'

'...What do you want with Sonic?'

'Heh. So he _does_ talk.'

'…O-only when I want to.'

'And he has his father's business acumen. Wonderful. That's all we need. Now Chris, understand that we're not going to hurt anyone.'

'S…Sonic.'

'Sorry, kid? I didn't hear that.'

'…Sonic will come here.

'Don't worry about that. I give you my word that we aren't going to hurt him. Nobody is.'

'Then… then what?'

'We have something we need to accomplish, and we need Sonic's help to do so.'

'You mean you have something _you_ need to accomplish.'

'…Indeed. And you can help us to do that as well. All you have to do is exactly what we say, and everything will work out fine. Do you understand?'

'You... you didn't answer my question.'

'No, you're right, I didn't. I'm sorry about that. Sometimes I can really get carried away with my own train of thought. Anyway, let me answer it with a question of my own: Do you know what they say about talent?'

'...Talent?'

'Yes. Like your mother's acting or your friend Sonic's ability to run. They say that Talents such as those like to skip a generation. Do you know what that means?'

'...No. And I don't see what it has to do with anything.'

'Be patient and you will, Christopher. It means that people's special capabilities, the things they're really good at, usually skip their children and go straight onto their grandparents. You've had some very intelligent grandparents, haven't you, Chris? Do you think you picked up some of their talents? If you did, then you're probably a lot closer than you think to figuring this whole thing out.'

'…I…'

'Don't understand? heh. Don't worry. You will. That's another smaller reason why you're here, actually. Not the biggest reason, of course. But it's part of it. I'll explain a little more later, once we've got a few thigns sorted out with your parents. You do want to go home, don't you, Chris?'

'Sonic will come.'

'Yes. I know he will.'

* * *


	17. Ivo

**I apologise for the long wait. With my schedule being so busy, and my interest in this fandom temporarily waning, anything I would've produced before this would have been half hearted and honestly not worth your time. And also... to be honest, I was a little nervous about posting this chapter. Understand that this is mostly just the products of my obsessive brain going into overdrive (though I have to note, that the dates I mention later on with regards to Professor Thorndyke are entirely accurate, and the thing which set me off on this rather surprising train of thought in the first place). **

**But enough of my rambling. Sorry for making you wait so long, and thank you sincerely for all your past reviews. I hope this chapter doens't let you down. **

* * *

Ivo. 

I've just about decided that there is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ left in this place which can surprise me.

I've walked around the Thorndyke mansion over twenty times now. I've heard Cream chatting away quietly with Ella in the kitchen, Mister and Mrs Thorndyke talking together in the library, sharing in some kind of quiet comfort, and I've encountered a locked bathroom door with what sounds like Amy snapping at Rouge inside. Now I'm back downstairs, approaching the workshop the size of Cleveland, and I'm being hounded by a machine that I _think_ is supposed to by hoovering the carpets.

The last week seems almost a blur. I've put together psychological papers on alien hedgehogs, unintentionally played a part in the kidnapping of a twelve year old by people trying to get their hands on aforementioned alien hedgehog, and these are hardly the first of my strange live experiences. One time, I stood on the street while a space station threatened to crash into us from above. I've watched a monster flood the city. I've been brainwashed by a ball of substitute sunlight into a mindless worshipper of all things egg-shaped (and believe me that is _not_ the proudest moment of my life).

I had thought that there was surely nothing left here that could possibly surprise me.

I thought wrong. There's something else.

It happens when I return to the workshop. I like it there; it's a wide open space, a total contrast to the many rooms and corridors above, and at this point I've been cooped up inside a building for two days. It's getting to the point where I wish CLIP would just break the doors down and get it over with already.

So it just so happens that I'm standing directly behind the door to the workshop, listening in on yet another conversation which I have no part in. At first, I think its Mister Thorndyke and the professor arguing again, but then I remember that I just saw Nelson Thorndyke upstairs with his wife, and anyway, that isn't the tone of voice a man usually uses around his father.

'That had better be all you need from me. '

'Yes.' The professor's voice answers. 'You've shown us everything we needed to know, and confirmed my existing suspicions. Thank you.'

The other man gives a snorting, whooping noise which I _think_ is supposed to be a laugh. 'Ha! Don't thank me _now_, Thorndyke. This information might end up doing you more harm than good, you know. There's a reason not even I've tried to mess with those CLIP lunatics.'

I swear it's my psychological training that does this to me; I just can't keep my nose out of other people's business and I always, _always_ pay for it. My nosiness is a gift sometimes, but more often than not, it just gets me into trouble. I lean as close to the door as I can, ear pressed against the metal...

And then the door opens, and I'm stood there, looking into the room in full view of its occupants.

'I'm willing to take that risk, at this point we have more— Oh... Ella.' Professor Thorndyke looks at me with his expression seemingly torn between surprise, horror, and amusement. 'You know, the bathroom is up the _other_ corridor.'

Because obviously, I think to myself scathingly, whatever else _can_ go wrong, _will_ go wrong. I'm about to stammer out an apology and back away as quickly as I can when I realise belated who I'm talking to. Who the Professor is talking to. Who is standing here with us; dominating the room as easily as he dominates the television screen during his latest speech about world conquest. My legs have turned to half dry cement and no matter how I want to turn and run, I can't. I simply can't.

The professor continues to stand there with an anxious expression. And then the visitor turns and looks at me.

'...And who in blazes is _this_ supposed to be?'

* * *

Amy Rose pauses, staring into the large, plastic dish of water with all the distaste of somebody staring at a dead cockroach. Rouge looks on in amusement, and Amy turns specifically to glare at her and wrap a towel a little tighter around herself. 'Why exactly are you _here_, anyway? Where's Ella? If anybody's going to be helping me then I want it to be Ella. Or Cream... Or even that psychologist lady! Anybody but _you_.'

'Oh, relax, Rosie,' Rouge says. 'I'm just here keeping Topaz company... Plus it's kind of funny watching you get all squirmy about your _fur_.'

'Don't _call_ me that, and this isn't _funny _y'know,' Amy counters. 'Don't you get how serious this is? The whole _government_ bar about two people is after us. Chris could die!'

'So could the rest of us. Or at least be locked up in the gaol. And yet you _still_ find time to worry about your appearance.' Rouge smirks. 'Relax, Amy. He's a _hostage_; he isn't any use to them if he's not alive. And Miss Filmdom out there was _completely_ exaggerating in that little panic of hers. There's no way that anyone could have gotten out of a crashed car that was speeding along at over _sixty_ miles per hour _alive_...'

Amy shudders. 'Rouge, stop it.'

To her credit, Rouge actually looks a little sympathetic. 'Sorry, but all the same, it's not the kid you should be worried about. It's you. But you guys never think about things like that do you?' Rouge sighs, leaning back from where she's sitting on the edge of the bathtub, even though there's nothing to lean against, she doesn't fall. 'No, it's all heroics, and action packed battles in the sky, and virtue and bravery and _WWSD_ to you guys, isn't it?'

Amy blinks. 'WWSD?'

'What Would Sonic Do?' Rouge grins. 'Honestly, you're all risking your hide here to help that kid. I'm amazed Sonic is even letting you do this,' —of course, Amy would only have chased him around with her hammer until he did, had he the nerve to refuse— 'Haven't our recent rather _bad_ experiences with humans taught you anything?'

'I don't see _you_ complaining about Topaz.' She knows that Rouge is goading her and that there's probably a reason for it, but really? Amy can't be bothered to deal with her right now.

_Especially_ not right now.

'Oh I _do_. Whenever she's around. But nonetheless, I think she's one of the few good ones. The exception that proves the rule, you know? Not _all_ humans are greedy little fools, after all.'

'You're a fine one to talk.' Amy mutters. Then there's a pause of silence. 'He'd do the same for us, Rouge. I _know_ he would.'

'Well, he's _Sonic_, that goes without saying.'

'Not Sonic. _Chris_. He can be a whiney little _kid_ sometimes...' she pauses, as if realising that Rouge is thinking something along the lines of 'pot calling a kettle black'. 'But he's our _friend_. It doesn't matter what he is. Just _who_ he is.'

Rouge raises an eyebrow, but somehow, deep down, Amy Rose can't help thinking that maybe Rouge believes what she just said. 'Very philosophical. Of course, like I said, Sonic would do this for a complete stranger, if he had to. Are we going to get _on_ with this or are you going to just stand here until the water gets cold?'

Amy sighs. 'I hate this.'

'There's still time to pull out.' Rouge says, jokingly, her arms folder, her eyes shining with mirth as she looks at Amy's uncomfortable expression.

'You idiot. Of course I'm not going to pull out! I'm perfectly _okay_ with doing it, it's just... just.' She winces, peering into the dish uncertainly and sighs again. 'Urgh.'

'Look on the bright side, Amy. Maybe _this_ way Sonic might actually pay attention to you for once.' Rouge sniggers.

Amy throws the towel at her as hard as she can, and steps gingerly into the water.

* * *

Eggman regards me for a moment longer. I had always thought that the reason he looked so odd on television was because of the broadcasts. The TV companies seem to _want_ to make the enemy of Planet Earth look as strange as possible (do you know, some of them even _tone down_ the blue in all the pictures and videos they have of Sonic? Which is probably why you often hear people explaining after meeting him that: "He's nothing like he looks on TV!" Damned media.)

Still in Eggman's case, there's little need to exaggerate. He is the strangest looking human being I've ever seen.

'Damn it, Thorndyke,' the Doctor growls. His voice is quieter and more... well, _human_, than I had expected it to be. '_What_ is _that_ doing here? This is a private meeting!_'_

I open my mouth, intending to say something sensible and serious and, most of all, in-control, but what comes out of my mouth is a stammered: 'I—um, well, no, I'm not, I was just... Not... bathroom?'

'This would be Doctor Elisa Crowley, Eggman.' The professor says, as calmly as if he's introducing me to an old school friend. 'She's been helping us with our recent dilemma.'

'_Helping_? The _paparazzi_! That's what she is!' Eggman snaps. His voice is kind of booming now, in the hollowness of the large room. The professor winces a bit, and I realise that as calm as he's trying to look, he doesn't want anybody to know about Eggman's presence here. 'You brought one of those damned news reporters in on this, didn't you? What a fool I was to trust in the word of a human!'

I find my mouth opening, to make the obvious point – that Eggman _is_ human and he cannot, must not, deny it– but I think better of it at the last minute. My head is spinning a little now, because Doctor. Eggman. Is. Here. Standing in this room with me, breathing in my face, _glaring_ at me... And he's just as funny looking, and as horrifying, as the papers make it sound.

I don't know whether to laugh at him or run away. In the end I do neither. I just stand there, mouth opening and closing. I must look like a confused goldfish.

'You can rest assured that she's not from the media.' The professor rescues me eventually (_rescues_ me? Damn it, he's the one who got us into this and he's better have a damned good reason for bringing the crazy megalomaniac here). 'She's a bit of a fugitive from justice herself right now. We're all in the same boat.'

_Fugitive_. I hadn't really thought of it like that. Or rather, I've been trying my hardest not to _allow_ myself to think of it like that, because the thought of being on the run from the law, wanted posters up in every police station, for crimes I'm not even entirely sure about, much less actually committed... It doesn't bear thinking about.

'I... I didn't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to listen in I-I just happened to be passing by and... The door was open.' I find myself stammering. _God_, Ella, show some damned backbone, will you? _You're_ not the one who brought an opportunistic dictator in on the show! You deserve explanations here more than anyone. 'W-what's going on here, professor?'

'Oh sure you didn't. Just like that spiny blue rat just _happens_ to be passing whenever he interferers with my plans. Like that two tallied mutant just _happens_ to be messing about with chaos control powers that should be mine and mine alone. Like Sonic just happened to pop through the portal from our world and end up _here_. In this house. At this particular time. Ha! You humans, think I'm dumb enough to fall for anything!'

'I've told you as many times, Eggman,' the Professor goes on. 'We have nothing to do with how you ended up here in this world. Frankly it's as big a mystery to us as it is to you. And more to the point, even if we did know what happened here, it doesn't change our situation. Or our deal.'

I stand there blinking at the professor in a way which I hope expresses my profound disbelief. I think I'm failing.

Eggman grunts again. 'Not anymore, Thorndyke. Not if I can't even trust you to keep one little _meeting_ quiet. I came through the sewer system to do this, you know. The _sewers_.' He sniffed in disgust. 'And you call yourselves civilised. The robots will be reeking for weeks. And now you turn _this_ on me, the damned media! When I want media attention I will call for an attack on the planet and get it myself.'

'I already told you, Doctor Crowley is not from the media. Do you honestly think anyone in the media is looking in our direction right now? they've mostly been bribed to look in exactly the opposite direction. Most of the world doesn't even know what's going on right under their noses. Now isn't the time for your dictatorial posturing, Eggman. Or should I call you Doctor Robotnik?'

Professor Thorndyke doesn't seem at all intimidated by this man. Not like me, standing here and shaking. It's silly, I know, but all I can think of when I see Eggman, are the reels and reels of notes in my office about the guy who once brainwashed most of the city's populace... How he ever got into the Whitehouse even in spite of this is a mystery. Sometimes I think we just _like_ being brainwashed. Simple life.

Oh dear, I'm growing cynical in my old age, aren't I?

'You expect me to believe that?' Eggman looks at me. 'Alight then, _Doctor_ Crow-whatever your name is. If you're not one of those fools who run around after Sonic with a camera attached, then why are you here? What purpose do _you_ play in this little resistance?'

'Um... I-I'm in… psychiatry.' I mutter again, staring at my feet. 'I graduated Harvard... few years back. Worked for the government I-I'm a psychiatrist. I use Ink blots, word association, people tell me about their childhood and... Stuff. You know. Boring stuff.' I'm pretty sure I'm laughing nervously now.

There is a pause before Eggman gives that whooping, ugly chuckle. 'Ha! About time. I knew the little rat could use having someone to examine his head. And don't even get me started on the kid. But then, insanity _does_ seem to run in your family, does it not, Professor?'

There's a cough from nearby, distracting us. And when I look, there is a familiar face with glasses and a stern expression. Franklyn Stewart. 'Sorry. Is this a private argument, or can anyone join the slander?'

I have never been so happy to see a school teacher. Except that he's not really a school teacher, I remind myself. He's something more than that. He exchanges a look with Professor Thorndyke, suggesting he knows exactly what's going on here. He's not just another eavesdropper like me.

'Great. More of you nosy little brats. And slander? Ha. I'll be the one to worry about that possibility, thank you very much,' Eggman mutters, his eyes narrow. 'And you, Mister Stewart... I do believe I've seen yu buzzing around more than your fair share of television studios. Don't think I missed it. I have eyes everywhere in this city. You humans, thinking you're so in control of the situation all the time!'

'You talk like you're not human yourself, Eggman,' Franklyn says, calmly. 'We all know that isn't true.'

'Oh, certainly, you can say I share your world's blood, but a man is a product of his environment, is that not so, _Professor_ Thorndyke?'

Charles Thorndyke's face is as blank and uninformative as a stone in the face of Eggman's words. I feel like I've walked in on the middle of the weirdest soap opera ever aired on television. 'She's trustworthy. That's enough for you, isn't it? If you come back later to find that you've been broadcasted to every country in the world... Well, you can take that out on me. All I care about right now is my grandson's safety.'

'Hmph. Very well.' He snaps his head round to look at me. I try not to shudder. 'But if I find you to be at all untrustworthy, Doctor Crowley, then you can rest assured you'll find out about it.' The Doctor glares at me, then his head snaps around to face the Professor. He reaches out and places a disk quite calmly on the table besides us. Professor Thorndyke knows it's there, but pointedly does not look. 'I don't want you reading into this, Thorndyke.' Eggman says, in a tone that brooks no argument. 'After this, things go on as usual. Nothing has changed. It never mattered before and it sure as heck isn't going to matter now. not to me.'

'Of course not.' Chuck says, and he sounds perfectly calm and even. 'You just remember to stick to your side of the deal.'

'Ha! So long as you stick to yours,' the Doctor gives me another scornful look and for a moment, I have to remind myself that he's as human as I am. A bit on the weird side, sure. But human.

I wait a moment until the man has disappeared through the patio doors. There is silence between the three of us for what feels like forever, sand I try to get to grips with exactly what just happened to me. Or rather what _didn't_ happen. Only then do I say anything. 'I. That was... Professor? Mister Stewart?'

'It's a long story, Miss Crowley.' Franklyn Stewart says evenly.

'Sounds like you know more about it than I do, though,' I add, giving him a look. 'He was talking about a deal, Professor! You're making a deal with a wanted criminal! What exactly was he talking about?'

'Nothing you need to be concerned about,' Professor Thorndyke says, and oh I am beginning to really _hate _those seven little words. I _am_ concerned about it, damn it. I've been concerned since the very beginning, when CLIP started using _my_ psychological papers to get what they wanted.

He must read from my expression that I'm not happy with his answer, so he offers me a little more. 'He has helped us, Doctor. Seems that the not-so-good Doctor _does_ have a bone in his body that isn't mean and megalomaniacal.'

'Not entirely, anyway,' Franklyn added. 'I still say he's ninety0-nine point nine, nine recurring on the evil side of the equation, but...'

Yeah. I'm pretty sure that bone came from the same place as his long-dead cousin.

'He _helped_ you?' I can't help but sniff. 'Him? Doctor Eggman is actually _helping us_?'

'It's not entirely unheard of,' the professor answers, simply. 'As unlikely as it may sound.'

_Unlikely_. Unlikely doesn't even cover it! We're talking about a man who once tried to take over the world by _blocking out the sun_ so we'd all be dependent on the mind altering psychotic rays coming from his artificial substitutes. We're lucky we didn't lose a damned rainforest.

'He had information we require,' Franklyn says. 'Or rather he had the technology to _uncover_ the information we need. And we had the leverage to get that information.' He laughs ever so slightly; a cold, disbelieving laugh that has very little humour in it. 'To be honest I think he's as surprised about our little discovery as I am.'

I take a deep breath. There's another horrible revelation coming, isn't there? I can feel it in my bones. 'And what little discovery is _that_?'

'Nothing you need to be concerned about Doctor.' Mister Stewart says calmly, but he's biting his bottom lip. 'Maybe I'm still wrong. I hope I am. But the less you know about all of this the better. 'You're in enough danger as it is, and if we fail in this mission...'

He clearly thinks this is enough of an explanation for me. Well. Like hell it is.

'I'm, afraid that _isn't_ going to cut it, Franklyn. I just saw you two talking to _Doctor Eggman_. A man wanted for crimes against the _state_. And now you're telling me that we're supposed to be in _league_ with him? That you have some kind of _deal_ going on here—!'

'Miss Crowley, please, calm down. After all you can't very well report me to the police now, can you?' Mr Thorndyke says, evenly. There's no threat in his voice. No anger or malice or guilt. He talks like a man who's been around long enough to have seen and done it all. A man who understands what needs to be done and why it needs to be done _illegally_.

And he's right, I realise, suddenly. There is nobody I can tell. Almost the entire government is inside of Malcolm Torn's breast pocket. And even if they weren't...

'You know I wouldn't do that.'

'Yes, I know,' the professor smiles. 'And we're grateful for that, believe me.' He's silent for a second, as if considering his options, then he turns to the not-school teacher. 'It's alright, Mister Stewart. You can leave this with me. Doctor Crowley is right, she deserves some kind of explanation for this, and for what we're about to do. At least somebody besides us ought to know the truth.'

Franklyn pauses for a second, seeming unconvinced. Then he nods and turns to walk away. The professor stops him with a comment: 'And Franklyn?' The school teacher pauses in the doorway and looks back. 'Thank you,' the professor says, sincerely. 'We couldn't have put this together without your help. We appreciate your tact.'

They're talking like goddamned diplomats. It irritates me, but I stay silent as Frankly nods, gives me a quick smile, and leaves the room, making sure to close the door firmly behind him.

'You _do_ want answers, I expect, Doctor. Please, sit down.' Charles Thorndyke offers me a chair, and I take it, because I think I might just fall over if I try to stay standing for another minute more. To hell with looking formidable. My legs feel as if they've turned to jelly. It's one thing to see Doctor Eggman proclaiming his attempt at world domination on your television set. It's quite another to see him face to face, looking down at you as if you're worth less than dog food.

Professor Thorndyke sits down in another chair and pulls a half completed Rubik's cube out of a desk drawer. 'Needless to say, we don't want Sonic knowing too much about this. Franklyn has been very helpful. It was he who arranged his meeting with the Doctor, and he's handling all this very well considering that this time last night, even he had no idea about all this. I owe him a debt. Both for this, and for keeping an eye on my family. So I'd appreciate if you kept quiet about his involvement. And don't mention the Doctor to anybody, especially not Sonic.'

He looks at me expectantly, and I can only nod in agreement, before I've even really thought about what he's asking me to keep secret. _Eggman_. Good grief...

'So he's the only other one who knows about this?'

'No. The other people who know are Rouge and Agent Topaz. And Rouge was just being nosy.' The professor smirks. 'Nobody else needs to know just yet. I doubt Sonic would ever trust Doctor Eggman under any circumstances.'

I take a deep breath, concentrating my thoughts. 'Personally, I don't blame him. And I don't see what this situation has to do with Doctor Eggman anyway.'

'Of course you don't. Well... to be honest it's mostly circumstantial,' Professor Thorndyke's chuckle is dry and humourless. 'You see, Doctor, Eggman has always had technology we were unable to duplicate. We'll need his help, once we go to rescue Chris...' He refuses to elaborate any more than that and brushes away my attempt at questioning it. 'There's no need to explain right now. The less you know the better.'

'What did you offer him?' I have to ask. 'In exchange for his help, I mean? What could we _possibly_ have to offer Doctor Eggman to make him help us?'

'You'd be surprised. For one thing, whatever is happening with CLIP concerns him too, whether he likes it or not. We'll all come out the worst for this, even him, if we allow CLIP to carry out their plans.'

'How do you know that?'

'I knew it for the moment those kidnappers told me that they wanted Sonic in exchange for my grandson,' the professor says calmly. 'I'm anything but senile. If they want Sonic then it's because there's something big planned.' He sighed. 'If we let Sonic go with them tomorrow then we'll be handing them a very powerful individual and I don't like to think about what they'd try to do with him.'

'But Sonic... Sonic would get out of it.' I say. It sounds like I'm trying to convince myself as much as anyone else. 'They couldn't keep him for long. I _know_ they couldn't.'

'I would like to agree with you,' the professor says, cynically. 'But there's too much at stake. You had them sat in an office for several hours, Doctor Crowley. How far do you think Sonic will go to protect the people he loves?' He doesn't give me time to respond because he knows he doesn't need to. The answer is _as far as he needs to._ 'But... there was another reason I asked Eggman here. I wanted... well. I wanted proof about something. I wanted to find out for myself before we went any further into this. I believe I have that proof now.' He pauses for a second and sighs, suddenly seeming very, very old. 'Damned Eggman, the cretin probably _knew_ this whole time... Or suspected it, at least. It wouldn't be like him to care He was just in this for the emeralds and it probably seemed like a pretty simple exchange for him.'

I have no idea what he's talking about. But I know which questions I need to ask now, whether I deserve the answers or not. 'Professor? I overheard you and your son talking in the study the other night...'

'You hear a lot of things you aren't supposed to, don't you, Miss Ella? And let me guess: you're not leaving this room until you have some answers?' Charles Thorndyke is smiling now, in a way which is only slightly humorous. It's funny how that expression knocks my confidence clean out of me.

'I suppose I do. He said something to you. He said "It never mattered".'

'And you want to know what he was talking about.' The professor finishes.

'...Yes.'

'Whether or not it has any relevance to this situation?'

I think it does have relevance. I'm not sure how, but somewhere in the back of my mind there are fragments of knowledge clashing into one another in random patterns struggling to make sense. I don't say this aloud however, I simply tell him: 'Well you don't have to. I could always check my notes and... I'm pretty smart; I can probably put the puzzle together.'

Professor Thorndyke continues smiling that strange, sad smile and turning the rubik's cube over and over in his hands. 'Genetics, Miss Crowley. My son was talking about genetics. You see, Nelson Thorndyke _is_ indeed my son...In every way except for that.'

It takes me longer than it honestly should to piece together what the professor means. 'Nelson Thorndyke is adopted?'

'Yes. Technically, anyway. I married his mother when I was eighteen... she was older than I by five years, and Nelson himself was already seven years old.' Professor Thorndyke says evenly. 'A little peculiar, isn't it? To have a father and son, so close to one another in age... It took us a while to get used to ourselves. I really wasn't sure I was prepared for fatherhood... But I loved my wife. I felt I could become anything, if only for her sake.'

It hits me, in that moment just how stupid I have been.

And I mean seriously, ridiculously _stupid_, with a capital S.

Because I've seen the Thorndyke's identity records and birth certificates. The information for this was right there staring me in the face, but I was so busy looking for deeper meaning, I ignored what was right there on the surface.

You can't really tell just by looking at them how very little there is between them: Professor Thorndyke seems so old and grey... And his grandson... Christopher looks so _very_ like him that it's difficult to imagine the connection between them could be anything but hereditary. Yet if Charles Thorndyke is not Nelson's biological father, then that can't possibly be so. Professor Thorndyke is connected to Christopher on paper alone.

I suppose it should have dawned on me one helluva a lot sooner, how very unlikely it is (if not impossible) that a man born in the year 1957 could have produced a _child_ by 1969.

I wait. For a long moment, the professor allows the silence to hang uncomfortably. He continues with his Rubik cube, and manages to get half of the yellow side of it done in the thirty seconds he isn't looking at me. 'It helps me to think, sometimes,' he says by way of explanation. 'I picked it up for Tails one day at a store but... He just never took to it, so it ended up here...

'Professor—'

'I know, I know. I suppose I owe you an explanation. I knew from the moment I met you that you weren't the type of person who could sit idly by and mind your own business, Doctor. You're far too curious for that.' He smiled faintly. 'In some ways you remind me of Christine... She was always sticking her nose into other people's business. Got her into trouble a fair few times, let me tell you. You haven't seen my wife, have you, Miss Crowley?'

Professor Thorndyke looks old and tired as he gazes at me, and yet, his eyes are... expectant. As if waiting for my approval of something. I shake my head, and the Professor turns and opens the same drawer he got the rubik's cube from. He begins pushing aside sheets of paper and computer discs until he finds what he is looking for – a small, red, leather-bound book.

He hands it to me. It's a small photo album. A very old one with a broken spine. When I open it, the first picture is of a wedding: a newly married couple, smiling for a camera. An image in sepia. The young groom in the photo is quite obviously Professor Charles Thorndyke, though I highly doubt he was a professor then. He seems much too young for that; and the woman by his side is only slightly older, and seems barely comfortable in her old fashioned wedding gown and veil... Her smile is the only thing that tells me how happy she is. That smile is so wide and bright. It reminds me of...

I'm not sure what it reminds me of. _Something_...

And then it dawns on me. I've seen that woman's face before. Albeit cut down to a small clipping. A young woman's smiling face, and you can tell, even in the aged colourlessness of the photograph: that she has woody red hair, and bright, blue eyes. Maria Robotnik's long lost sister, stares back at me from the ancient photograph.

Christine Thorndyke was Gloria Robotnik.


	18. Chuck

**And thus, the chaos continues (no pun intended... well, okay, maybe a little). This is another of those chapters that I've had sitting around in my head since practically the beginning. It's been modified a great deal since then, of course, but the essential point has stayed the same. **

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I apologise for not giving you thorough responses, time has been a bit iffy. I hope you enjoy the following chapter. **

**PS: I'm sorry for the lull in drama. I promise I'll get onto the exciting stuff next. **

* * *

Chuck. 

My jaw may have spontaneously decided to stop working, because I stand there with it hanging open, trying to process what I've just uncovered, for about five minutes before the Professor coughs and brings me back to sane reality. In so far as I can call anything "sane" at this point. My head is whirling .

'I... I don't think I understand,' I whisper. There's nothing more than I can do. 'I mean, this is strange, certainly, but I'm not sure how it's relevant to our situation.'

The professor gives the resigned sigh of a man who's had long enough to come to terms with this and isn't surprised any longer. 'Well, you're the psychologist here. Work it out. What do _you_ think of Eggman?

I take a deep breath, falling back on my instincts. 'Well, I haven't spoken to him before now, but I don't think Eggman cares about his genetics, or his family, or about who's connected to whom. All he cares about is what he wants, and what he can gain from an encounter with any given individual.'

'Yes, you're probably right about that.' Professor Thorndyke nods.

'Well then... I don't see why this would make any difference to him. I certainly don't see why he'd help you. The idea of blood being thicker than water doesn't mean anything to a person like that.'

'I agree.' Professor Thorndyke nods. 'Oh, I expect he has a _few_ feelings about the situation, but only for the same reason he has feelings about anything, Ella: Reputation. And to be honest, I'm sure that Thorndyke Industries wouldn't benefit from somebody finding out our family is genetically related to a villainous megalomaniac, either. However he cared at least enough to provide me with the information I asked for, once I tracked him down.'

I'll have to ask later how exactly he did that. My superiors have been trying to keep tabs on Eggman for months now, and yet this old man in his ransack, homespun workshop seems to have done what millions of dollars worth of government manpower and equipment couldn't – tracked down the nefarious Eggman. Frankly, this situation couldn't get any weirder if Knuckles marched through the room doing the Can Can. With Rouge.

'I think there's something else you should know, Miss Crowley.' The professor goes on. Oh well, I think to myself, after all of this, what's one more brain melting revelation? 'My wife was killed eleven years ago. They say that it was a car crash.'

'...But you don't believe that?' I guess.

'No... Well, I _did_ believe it,' the professor corrects himself. 'I was told my wife's death was a tragic accident. Until quite recently I had no reason to suspect otherwise. Why would I? I mean, look at the _truth_: a mad man hops through from another dimension, along with a bunch of anthropomorphic animals, who somehow end up living at the home of the same madman's long lost relatives? That an ordinary little scientist like me married into a family of super geniuses and mad men? It's a bit farfetched, don't you agree?

I can't help nodding . I'm smirking a bit, in spite of my nerves (or perhaps, because of them). 'Very _Galactic Wars_. So um, what was it that first made you... suspicious?'

The professor shrugs. 'There were always a few little things which never added up, now that I think about them. Nelson's lack of a birth certificate, Christine's refusal to discuss her past with me, no matter how many times I asked... Her adamant dislike of anything associated with the space program.' He shudders. 'They weren't curious enough incidents to make me suspicious at the time. And then of course, she was gone. I no longer had the opportunity to ask.' He stands up and walks slowly across the room, seeming older than he is. After a few minutes of silence, I can't help but prompt him.

'But... then?'

'It was something Mister Tanaka told me about Shadow that first clued me onto a possible connection,' the Professor went on. 'Though I had no idea then just where it would lead me... When they returned from the Colony, he told me how Shadow had for some reason seemed to _trust_ Chris. How he rescued him, protected him, even in the middle of all the destruction he was helping to cause. Tanaka also mentioned a girl named Maria...Apparently she was the start of everything, so I went and looked her up. There were pictures...' he hesitates. 'It was like looking at my own photo albums. Christine was younger in those pictures, sure, but she was so like Maria. The resemblance between them was uncanny. I knew then what it was that Shadow saw in my Grandson. Why he helped him...

'It could have still been coincidence, of course; figured I was going a little senile in my old age. But things still didn't add up. So I decided to search for proof. I wanted DNA results, so I went to the only person I could, the only relative of Maria Robotnik known to be alive today.'

I know where the story goes neck. 'Eggman.'

'Right. He was a lot more accommodating than I expected. Of course,' he smirks slightly. 'I _did_ have a bit of leverage, what with knowing exactly where he was hiding and being able to relay that location directly to the government if I wished.'

I decide not to think too hard about that point for a moment. I can think about how on earth the Professor knows where Eggman is hiding later, when all these other insanities have been dealt with. 'So... you think someone killed your wife, because of her connection to Maria, and to Project Shadow.' I make a logical jump. 'You suspect somebody in CLIP?'

'Now _that_ I don't know for sure, the professor shrugged. 'I could be completely wrong... but all of the pieces here definitely don't add up to a nice, coherent little puzzle. And if somebody _did_ murder Christine... Then I have no doubt they would do the same to my Grandson. The only reason they haven't is because they want something more from us. In the end, this isn't really about my family at all, is it? It's about this family's _friends_. They want Sonic because he too has some kind of connection to Project Shadow.'

I blink, feeling suddenly as if I've gotten off a train of thought at the wrong stop. 'Wait, what?'

'A DNA test isn't the only thing Eggman gave me. He may be insane, but he's still brilliant. And Sonic and Shadow are yet another unexplained similarity, after all. There's no doubt Sonic is connected to Shadow.

A knock on the door shakes me out of the half stupor that the insanity of this whole thing has pushed me into. It opens before we have a chance to respond, and there stands Agent Topaz, looking cold, serious, and just a little frayed around the edges.

'Another message, sir.' Topaz says quietly. 'It's from them. They've given us everything we need. The location, the time, the demands... it's all spelled out quite plainly. And everyone's getting antsy out here. Miss Crowley,' she looks at me. 'They've... asked for you to be at the pickup sight.'

When I reply this event in my mind later on (probably when I'm writing my memoirs or something), I'll probably try to mentally edit my reaction to something a little less... panicked. 'W-what? Me? I don't understand...'

'It's on the paper of demands,' Topaz elaborates, her voice bitter and sharp. She's practically gagging at the very idea of just giving in to these people's demands. '"Send the Doctor of Psychology". No other worlder's besides Sonic, and no Operatives.'

'But what does this have to do with me? I'm just... I'm a psychologist, not a negotiator!'

'I don't think that's what they want you for, Ella,' Topaz says, dryly. 'I'd go in your place, but they specifically requested no operatives. You're the closest alternative we have left anyway.'

I have no idea how she's worked out that spectacular bit of logic. I take a deep breath. 'I... alright. If that's what they want.'

'It's settled, then,' Professor Thorndyke says evenly. 'Looks like they're making their move, at last. Which allows us to make ours. Thank you, Topaz. We'll be out in a moment.'

Topaz closes the door behind her as she goes, and the Professor stares at the door after her for one long moment. He doens't have to tell me. I know what he expects. 'You don't want me to tell anyone about this, do you?'

'I'd rather you didn't. It would have repercussions we could do without right now.' He nods.

I picture that nervous little boy sitting in my office a few days ago, and try very hard to equate him with the whooping madman who nearly destroyed the city. I can't do it. I just can't. It shouldn't be possible, and yet, my brain is screaming at me for missing it. I take a deep breath and straighten my skirt. Star Wars can wait; right now we have a kid to rescue and a government plot to uncover.

And I'm going to be right in the firing line. Wonderful. No pressure.

'...I don't see how it's pertinent to my investigation. But Professor... this plan, if it doesn't work—'

'Then we'll be in even more serious trouble than we already are, with no possible back up plan,' The professor says calmly. 'But it's either this or give in, Doctor. And I wouldn't trust CLIP with my third best jacket. If we give in then nobody will be safe anyway, least of all Chris.'

'Catch twenty two,' I mutter to myself, before following Professor Thorndyke out of the room.

* * *

She catches me twenty minutes before we're due to leave and try to save the world, or a twelve year old, or... whatever it is we're about to do. I lost track of logical thought sometimes around the point where Topaz told me I'd been specifically asked for by a bunch of kidnappers and killers.

'Here! Miss Ella, I made you a present!' Cream grins, waving a pad of paper in front of my face. The multicoloured pages are covered in strange, dark blotches of paint and ink.

'Um. thank you?'

'They're blotches,' Cream says, happily, ruffling the pages of the pad in her hands. 'Before you go, I thought maybe we could play a game, like the one we played in your office.'

'A... game?' She wants to play. Now of all times, she actually wants me to play a _game_ with her.

'Uhuh. Chris and I always play games whenever we're waiting around for Sonic,' Cream smiles, and I feel I understand a little better. She wants to play because she misses her friend, and she's just like the rest of us in that she wants to distract herself. I take the pad gingerly out of her hands. She's used crayon, pencil, paint, glitter glue... whatever she could get her hands on. 'Do you like it? I didn't have the proper ink, so I tried lots of different things to make it look right.'

'Thanks. You, um... you did a good job. The glitter is pretty.'

She seems pleased by this response. 'Okay ,then let's play quickly, because you have to go soon.' She scrambles up onto the lounge couch, where I've been sitting, stiff as a board, for the last fifteen minutes. The last hour couldn't possibly pass any slower than it already is. Maybe she'll help distract me. 'But this time, you answer the questions, and I'll be the Doctor, okay?'

'Okay, fine.' I chuckle, and it's only partly forced. Hey, if she wants to take a registered form of psychiatric testing and turn it into a cloud-spotting game, then who am I to argue? Cream pushes the pad up close to my face, smiling, and I try to make out something solid within the smears of red paint and glitter against blue paper.

'But I'm probably not the best person to play this game with, Cream. I don't have a lot of imagination... Um... I think that one is a bear.'

'Really? I thought it looked like a Chao.' Cream looks at the picture upside down over the paper.

'Hm, I guess it does, really. But the first image that popped into my head was of a bear. You know the rules, Cream. It has to be the first thing you see. '

'Ohh. You were right, different people do see different things.'

She flips the page, and my eyes are assaulted by a blurred mess of green paint and what I think may be charcoal.

'Um... a chicken, in a farm yard.'

'I saw that, I saw that!' Cream laughs. She turns the page.

This is probably the most interesting version of the Ink Blot test I've ever done in my life. Cream turns the pages quickly and excitedly, and I answer just as fast. She didn't entirely understand the principles of the test, so there are stickers and stencil marks and little stick figures drawn all over the papers. One page consists of just one big, drawn love heart. I think if it weren't for the mounting pressure in my gut, or the fact that I've seen this kind of think a million times with a thousand different clients, then I might even be having fun. I don't know how, but she seems to have successfully filled the entire sketch pad of paper within a few hours. And gone through the house's entire stock of art supplies to do it.

The next page has a rainbow of wax crayon stickers shaped like balloons.

'A rainbow through a prism... that's a type of geometric shape,' I explain.

'Ohhh.' _Flip_.

'...A dolphin. Or maybe a shark.'

_Flip_.

'A salt shaker.'

_Flip_.

'Chains.'

_Flip_.

'A broken pencil.'

_Flip_.

'A man with wings.'

'Like an angel?'

'Um... something like that.'

_Flip_.

'Um...' bite my lip on the next one – a smear of blue against a stick figure of black. Not because I don't really know what it could be, but because I'm unsure how to _say_ so. 'I... I'm not sure. I don't think I've got anything for that one.

Cream is chirpy and oblvious. 'Oh, that's alrght. There's plenty more to go.'

'A bear trap.'

'What's a bear trap?'

I swallow a breath, Cream still staring at me innocently. I open my mouth to try and come out with some reasonably sanitary response, but fortunately, that is the moment where Mister Tanaka appears, and tells me that we're ready to depart.

When I leave, I take Cream's pad of inkplots with me.


	19. Michael

**So. **

**I have a terrible habit of not finishing things on this website and I wanted, just this once, to have something which was actually CONCLUDED. So I put together the last chapters of this, almost exactly as I had it planned. **

**I apologise to everyone who wanted to read this and know where I'm going, I shouldn't have left it as long as I did. I don't think it's going to be the most staggering work I've ever done, and this chapter in particular feels... shaky, to me. I've learned quite a bit since I started writing this so long ago, and some of my older 'techniques' make me cringe, now but I've started, so I will honestly try to finish, for once. I hope it's worthy of your ridiculously long wait.**

* * *

Michael. 

'So, kid, I guess you're a Diamonds supporter, huh? You've got your logo on their shoes. Good team. Maybe they'll catch another big break this season and finally get into the leagues, huh?'

'...'

'You're Christopher, right? Bet you're glad to be outta that room. Sorry about that, I know a warehouse isn't exactly an impressive hideaway like in the movies, but you should see downstairs. I'm Michael. That guy over there getting the car is Jake. Were gonna take you home. Sorry about the masks and all, but... well, you know why we don't want people seeing us, don't you? You're not stupid.'

'...'

Still nothing. Not that he had expected any answer. 'You're probably wondering what's going on. Don't worry; we're just taking a car ride. You ever visited the desert? Used to go out there with my dad all the time when I was your age. There are some rock formations in the south that're bigger than _tower blocks_.'

'...'

'I know you must be wondering, though so I'll tell you: we're meeting your family. Your grandpa's been very agreeable about all this, so you'll be back at home with your parents before you know it.'

'...'

'Still not talking, huh? Guess I can't blame you. For what it's worth, kid, I'm sorry about this. If I was—'

'...Mike, what the _hell_ are you doing?'

'...We were just talking about the Diamonds.'

'Uh...huh. Whatever.'

'Hey, don't look like that. It's just talking; I'm not spilling national secrets. His eyes are covered, we're wearing masks, not like we can't talk to the kid, is it?'

'So long as you can do so without telling him all about your life story. Jesus, Mike, you can't go spilling information to the hostages.'

'I'd appreciate if you didn't call him that.' Michael winces.

'Yeah, yeah, _fine_. Whatever, it's not like he doesn't already know what's going on; he's _twelve_, not six. Get in the car, kid... And stop looking at me like that, you can't even see me an' it's _weird_.'

For a moment, the boy doesn't move. Just stands there in what Michael thinks is probably a not-so-bold attempt at defiance, but it's hard to be defiant when you're twelve years old, wearing a blindfold, and around people who you know for a fact have guns. When Jake gives him a nudge, the boy climbs into the backseat of the car without a word. Jake switches on the child-locks and slams the door shut.

Michael sighs as he opens the door to the front of the car. 'He's quiet, huh?'

'He's been this way ever since we got him. Wouldn't say a damned word to anyone, not even Lynch, and you know he's got the Good Cop routine down to a freakin' art form. Can you blame him?'

'Hm. Didn't think anyone related to that Drama Queen Flair would be such a timid little thing.'

'He's been _kidnapped_. You expect anything else from him? You're chatting away to him like some elementary school teacher with a fluffy pink jumper, for hell's sakes, Michael, quit being such a Stockholmer.'

'Don't swear in front of the kid.'

The look on Jake's face is kind of priceless. Or it was the first hundred and fifty times he saw it. Jake has this uncanny ability to be constantly surprised by his partner's refusal to be cast as a stone cold killer. Then again, Jake was weird. That was probably half the reason CLIP had hired him in the first place. If he'd still been working for the regular employment stratum of the government, he would've been fired by now. Probably. 'What the... are you kidding me? For god's sakes, this isn't a playground and you're not a freaking foster parent!'

'Just saying, is all. Why make things any worse?'Jake's grip tightens on the steering wheel. 'Damn it, Jake, get a handle on this, will you? I don't like this at all and neither do you.'

'What I like and what I do are two very different things. I like you, for example, but you've _really_ got to learn to separate the business from the personal here. You're the most bleedin' heart Secret Service guy I've ever met. You're working for CLIP now, not some sappy down town police service. You have bigger duties than helping little old ladies cross the street and comforting scared little kids.'

Michael crushes the cigarette in his fingers in frustration. 'Just saying, I don't see why we need to make things worse than we already do.'

'Man, shut up. I know you're new to all this, but when you stop taking a pay check from the same guy I do...'

'Huh. Yeah right. I know just what'll happen if I ever decide to quit this little mission of national security, Jake, and I know damn well I won't be leaving with a retirement plan and redundancy pay.'

'Exactly.'

'...Right. Hey kid, put your seatbelt on.' He watches as the warehouse slides out of view, trying not to think about the hustling of activity going on beneath the earth. 'You know, When they moved me to this department nobody said anything about kidnapping in the name of national security.'

'Yeah? I bet nobody said that the ladies would all be old battleaxes and that you'd be polishing the lab tanks in your downtime either. Deal with it, Michael. Now come on. The sooner we get this done with the sooner we can go home too.'

He pauses as the car starts, letting Jake's words sink in for the millionth time. If there was one thing Jake was good at, it was reminding him of the pay check.

'Um...'

Michael turned backwards in his chair at the faint sound of muttering. '...You say something kid?'

'Yeah,' the boy's voice is quiet, but strangely firm. And if he knows something Michael doesn't. 'I said that seatbelts didn't make any difference last time.'

'...Right, I guess they didn't.'

* * *

The first car trundles quietly through the more deserted back streets of Station Square, with Grandpa Chuck and Miss Crowley up front, and Amy in the back passenger seat, knees drawn close to her body and a nervous frown on her face. She stays this way as they leave the main city and begin driving through the emptiness of the desert. They're not in the limo. The limo would be far too obvious with a lot of the city's police guards on the lookout for them.

'You alright, Amy?' Grandpa calls back just as they're leaving the city outskirts and there's nothing ahead of them except for desert for a few hundred miles.

'Who me? Sure, totally fine. Just great. Except for the fact that I'm gonna be washing blue dye outta my fur for weeks.' Amy sniffs. She admits to herself that she probably doesn't sound as certain as she'd intended to.

'You can still back out of this you know, honey,' Ella says, evenly. 'We won't think any less of you for it.'

'What, and let them get away with hurting my friends?' Amy scowls lightly. 'As if! My little friend the Pico Pico Super Hammer wants to have some _words_ with those guys.'

'Ah... better keep your hammer out of the way, Amy. And if I had my way you wouldn't be here at all,' Grandpa Chuck mutters.

'I have to,' Amy says evenly. 'It's important.'

Grandpa harrumphs, seeming unconvinced, but accepting. 'Well, you don't need to worry about a thing. Whatever happens none of us are going to just roll over and do whatever they ask us to do. Not even over my dead body.' Grandpa goes on. 'Your job is just to turn their eyes. If Doctor Crowley is right then there's no way they'll risk hurting their prize hedgehog...'

'Yup, that's me,' Amy chuckles nervously. 'Amy Rose, the walking, talking distraction technique!'

Grandpa chuckles. 'I'm sure the papers will love it... You know how they jump on anything Sonic related anyway.' he waves his hand vaguely in the air. Amy thinks she catches a nervous, furtive look on Miss Crowley's face, but the psychiatrist covers up her uncertainty well.

At the sound of his name, a head pops up from beneath the back ground covering the trunk of the car. Everyone knew he was there. They can hear the pounding of his feet against the bottom of the trunk. 'I still say it would'a been easier to just send me in there find out what they're up to in person,' Sonic wrinkles his nose. 'What's the deal with the bait and switch routine, Gramps?'

'Sorry Sonic, but as much as I hate to say it there's a lot more at stake here than just my grandson' grandpa says, and Amy catches him looking at Doctor Crowley again. The psychiatrist stays silent, seemingly staring out of the window. 'I don't think we can risk their getting a hold of you. Well,' He smirked. 'Not on _their_ terms, anyway.'

'I can handle it!'

'You don't know what for sure,' Grandpa says firmly. 'It's not worth the risk. We're talking about people who have successfully managed to turn most of the government against us and then kidnapped a child in broad daylight.'

'Yeah, Sonic, you're just here to catch any bullets that might start flying,' another grumpy voice mutters from inside of the trunk. 'How's it feel to be stuck playing a bit part for once, instead of the conquering hero?

'I'd feel better about it if Amy weren't playin' the hero, Knuckles.'

Amy shuffles uncomfortably. 'Mmrf. Just go back in the trunk and play cards, Sonic. Don't _look_ at me. I'm terrible.'

'Oh come on, Ames, it doesn't look _that_ bad...'

'Huh. Not on YOU maybe, but I look like something out of one of Cream's little kiddie cartoons, and this colour does _nothing _for my figure. I wish I'd worn my dress.'

'Oh, yeah, because they're totally gonna believe that Sonic the Hedgehog walks around in a pretty red dress.' Knuckles voice mutters.

There's science for several uncertain moment. That Amy doesn't snap straight back at Knuckles says a great deal about her nervous she feels.

'Sooo... Are you mad at me or something?' Sonic asks, confusedly, 'I can never tell when you're mad at me, you girls are so weird.'

'And you boys are such total idiots! Damn it, Sonic, of course I'm not mad, I'm just... just...' she sighed, staring firmly out of the window as they drove. Nobody else spoke a word. 'Just a little scared, that's all. Don't you think I know what's going on here? I'm not a complete airhead. I know the risks. I know what I'm getting myself into. You don't have to treat me like some little kid.'

'Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry, I just thought—'

'Well don't,' Amy snaps. Sonic falls obligingly silent. The car travels on in silence for a few moments longer.

'Hey... I don't regret it you know.' Amy says softly, hoping the two sitting up front can't hear her.

'Don't regret what?' Sonic said, a little louder than Amy would've liked. Clearly, he has no understanding of subtlety. But then again, he was Sonic the hedgehog, so she probably shouldn't be surprised.

'Hush! I'm talking about Doctor Crowley.'

Sonic looks at the front seats, blinking. 'She's sittin' right there.'

Amy sighs in frustration. Boys. 'I'm just saying... I think I was wrong to be angry with her. It's not _her_ fault they used her information to find out more about us. '

'Nah. But I still think we shouldn't have done it in the first place,' Sonic rubbed his ears, thinking. 'Then again... if Gramps is right and something bigger really is going down here, maybe it's for the best that we got involved.'

Grandpa started tapping away at a handheld PDA, Doctor Crowley watching him curiously from the passenger seat. 'Alright,' Grandpa said quietly. 'I think this is your stop Sonic, Knuckles.'

The two of them perked up immediately. 'Finally!' Sonic sighs. 'These cars are so freakin' slow, I thought we'd never get here.'

'Well at least you didn't have to crouch back here with something that smells like hedgehog and chilidogs.' Knuckles grumbles.

'Hey!'

'Just be careful out there, you two,' Miss Crowley blurts out, looking back at them, embarrassed. 'It's just... these people, they know all about you. They've been reading my reports for weeks. They're probably prepared for you.'

'Maybe, but they're prepared for us coming in the _front_ door,' Knuckles pointed out. 'Not via a non-existent door somewhere at the back.

Doctor Crowley didn't look convinced. 'I don't know, my reports were pretty thorough.'

'How could they be? I barely told you anything,' Knuckles pointed out, looking uncomfortable. 'Wait... just how much of that freaky psychological mind reading stuff do you _do_ anyway?'

'I don't read minds, Knuckles. I'm just good at working people out. It's a talent of mine and I don't know if it had very much to do with being a psychologist.'

'It has more to do with being a woman,' Amy pipes up brightly. 'Right Doctor?'

'Uh... if you say so, Amy.'

'The Doctor's right, fellows,' Chuck says calmly. 'You need to watch yourselves out there. Try not to rush into things too quickly.'

Knuckles grunts. 'That's Sonic's problem, not mine.'

Sonic sniggered. 'Sure, sure whatever ya say. Just hold on tight, Knuckles. I know slowpokes like you don't deal so well with Sonic speed.'

By now the car is speeding out of the city and into the surrounding deserts. There are few people around, nobody to see what's happening as the trunk of the car opens, and a sharp flash of red and blue shoots out into the sand.

Doctor Crowley leans back in her chair. 'Amy? You alright?'

'Sure...' Amy doesn't sound convinced. 'Doctor Crowley, about those tests...'

'I know.' Ella interrupts. 'I'm sorry, Amy. I didn't realise it was going to end up like this. If I'd know CLIP were siphoning off my studies for their own needs—

'It's not that,' Amy says quickly. 'It's just... I wanted to say thanks, that's all.'

Crowley turns back to look at her. 'Whatever for?'

'I dunno... I mean, I still hate that it happened but... it was kinda nice, having somebody to talk to. Ella –our Ella – is _really_ kind, but she doesn't know much about boy stuff, Cream's too young to understand, and everyone else are just... well, boys.' She wrinkles her nose, before looking at grandpa. 'No offence, Grandpa Chuck.'

'None taken.'

Amy leaned back in her seat. 'I was just thinking that when this is over, if you could... I don't think anyone will mind so much if you let other people see our reports. Like schools and people we see all the time. You know, make them public.'

Doctor Crowley looked uneasily back at her. 'Are you sure?'

'If some super-secret government agency should know all about us, but our friends know nothing at all, then yeah, we're sure. We all talked about it. Right now we're being made out to be these awful monsters... I like Chris. But I like Station Square too. I don't wanna spend the rest of however long we might be stuck here with everyone thinking we're bad people, you know?'

Ella looked nervous for a moment. Then she nodded. 'I'll talk to the others, when this is all over.'

'Don't you worry, Amy,' Grandpa said, calmly. 'By the time this is all over, everyone is going to know the truth about what happened here, and about what happened on Space Colony Ark.'

'Good,' Amy says, as if that was unequivocally that. Then she goes silent for the rest of the journey.

* * *

We're in the middle of the desert.

And really, isn't that just the icing on the cake?

It's all going to plan, though. At least that's what I've been telling myself from the moment we got out of the car. It's what I keep telling myself as we go through the motions I see on just about every cop show in the word at least once a series. The kidnapping, the meeting, the exchange. The men in ridiculous masks and the burning desert air, scalding the back of my neck.

I should probably be more concerned about how much my life resembles a TV show of late.

Still, we're here. It's now. And there's Chris, being helped out of the car by a very tall man. He isn't what I expected. The other guy, however... he fits the bill alright. His eyes are uncovered, as if he couldn't stand the mask hiding them. He looks like the only thing holding him back from doing something crazy is a neat suit and a wire in his ear. CLIP agents. The people who somehow managed to turn the whole government against us. The same people who employed me, without my even knowing it.

I hear the man standing by Chris say something. His voice is fairly gentle considering the role he's playing. I make out an '...Okay, you can say something.'

Chris hesitates for a moment, and when he actually talks, it's like he expected the world to be ripped out from under him at any moment. '...Grandpa?'

When the professor starts breathing again, so do I. I didn't realise I'd stopped. 'You got it, kiddo. Ms Crowley's here, too.'

'What about Sonic?' Chris asks.

Amy keeps her mouth firmly shut, but the silence seems to tell Chris all he need to know. 'Grandpa, no, he _shouldn't_.'

'Worry about yourself, Chris Are you alright?

'I'm _fine_, Grandpa Sonic shouldn't _be here_, they'll—

'Alright, alright, I think we've had enough heart melting reunion scenes to last us all the rest of our lives,' the second of the two men scratches his ear, looking thoroughly bored with the whole situation. His eyes are small, sharp and wild. He doesn't look like the kind of person I'd ever have on my couch, mostly because he'd probably chew through his cuffs and smash the window to escape. The other man looks... calmer. More rational. So I focus on him and Chris instead. Always watch the quiet ones.

'Have to admit, I'm half surprised you're here.' The professor says. 'It would be quite typical of your folks to reign in on their deals.'

'We're not inhuman monsters, sir.' The taller man says. 'We follow through on what we promise.'

'The fate of my grandson and our friends would suggest otherwise,' Chuck said, coldly. 'After all you are planning to have the whole world hunting them down like they're frightened animals, using people to get your own way, hiding secrets like cowards, just as your predecessors did. The same predecessors who murdered my wife. Did you know that, agents? Were you aware that kidnapping was only the lesser of your employer's wrongdoings?'

There's a hesitation in the two men before us. Exactly as the professor planned. Misdirect and distraction, make sure they're looking in any direction except for _that_ one.

'Well...' The professor says. 'As the papers like to quote so much: "_Sonic would never leave his friends hangin'_". And here he is, of his own free will. Just as we agreed.'

'Sonic' doesn't say a word. She's probably scared to open her mouth. Just one word and the whole jig could be up. I can't say Rouge hasn't done a good job, though. She really does look moderately convincing. She steps forwards. She's shaking a little, not enough for them to see it. I want to reach out a hand and reassure her.

No, that's not true. I don't want to reassure her I want to drag her out of here, throw everyone in the car and run, for the rest of our lives if need be. Something about this is just all wrong, and not simply in the obvious ways. It feels like we're a bunch of side characters, fighting their way through some ridiculous personal struggle while the reality of what's happening goes on far above our heads. Like we're pawns in a decades old story.

'Yeah so he is. Colour me surprised.' The wild eyed man looks... slightly suspicious as he steps forwards towards Amy. He pauses, nodding at his partner who pulls away Chris's mask. The boy blinks in the light, and the man has to stop him turning round. He gives Chris a small push in the direction of his grandfather.

'Alright.' The wild man says, bluntly. 'Michael, get the cage. Think we're gonna need it if this lil' spiky freak is as tough as the newspapers like to make out he is.'

The tall man, Michael, nods almost imperceptivity and turns to the boot of the car. Then three things happen all at once. The first thing is that Chris... hesitates. He's looking straight at 'Sonic', his eyebrows creasing. Then his eyes widen in disbelief.

The second thing is that the wild eyed man reaches out to Amy and grabs her arm roughly. Amy "_eeps_!" like a frightened Cream.

Maybe it was _that_ which gave the game away, I'm not sure, but the vague suspicion on the second man's face changes into fury faster than I can blink. The professor is reaching out his hands towards Chris, who has just got it into his head to move, but not fast enough. The wild eyed man is yelling something – a code word or a signal, and that's when everything goes to hell. He pulls Amy in and throws her to the side so sharply that every instinct I have tells me to smack him in the face. Only common sense and fear keep me rooted to the spot.

'Think I can't remember a face that's been in every freakin' newspaper in town for the last year, Thorndyke? He sneers. 'If that's Sonic the Hedgehog, then I'm the queen of England, what the _hell_ do you think you're play—'

That's about when the third thing happens.

The third thing is an audible _thwack._ The sound effects of a comic book, the twist crack of a weapon flying out of someone's hand as a streak of something faster than any living being shoots past and jolts it away. It happens again, this time with the other gun, who stares at his suddenly empty hand in bewilderment. Chris reaches his grandfather just as the blue blur is skidding to a stop in front of the wild man, who's already drawing his other gun –because of course, they're never going to have _just_ the one, are they? Life would never be so convenient_– _to shoot a second time. The bullet grazes the dirt, missing its target, which is already several feet away coming in from behind to slam right into the back of the guy's head.

The relief I feel is probably unwarranted, too soon, but I can't help it. Sonic –the real Sonic– sniggers. Actually _sniggers, _crouching on the roof of the CLIP agents' car. 'What'd the prof tell ya, guys? Never leave my friends hanging.'

Chris is yelling Sonic's name and Amy is running back towards me, eyes bright with terror... and then rage as the second man raises his gun and shoots.

He misses me. I feel the air of the bullet graze my cheek so damned _close_. Amy's eyes go wide and shocked, then bright with anger.

Ah. There's the hammer. She's turning and yelling as she throws the huge object directly at the wild man's head. He ducks, and the hammer whirls over his head and slams into the side of the jeep they came in. The bulletproof glass window shatters like an eggshell. Amy raises her hand, but the wild man is already shoving her to the dirt again and—

Me. He's going for me. I have a gun. It's strapped to my side but I've never handled a gun in my life. The hesitation costs me, because the next thing I know, wild man is yelling 'Stop right where you are!' his arms are around my neck, and the barrel of the gun is pressed against my temple.

Everyone freezes. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sonic skidding out of a spin dash and almost falling in his haste. Chris is gripping his grandfather's arms as tightly as he can, and Amy is holding her retrieved hammer in shaking fists. Nobody moves an inch., and it dawns on me that I am probably the most expendable out of every single person in the desert at this moment.

A tiny little, hysterical part of me squeaks out that it could be worse. He could say something ridiculously corny and straight out of a cop show rather than just letting his actions speak for him...

'Alright, 'alien. Here's the new deal. Stick your hands over your spiky little head, and get your little band of miscreants to do the same. Otherwise, I blow Doctor Crowley's pretty little head off.'

...Oh for god's sakes. I can't even be _kidnapped_ originally.

The other man, the gentler one, steps forwards, and that might be regret in his eyes, but he raises his own gun anyway, pointing it directly at the Professor. 'Sorry, sir. But I hope you realise that this forces our hand.' He frowns in disbelief. 'You could've just left. It could've been a lot easier than this.'

'With Sonic, nothing's ever easy,' I hear Amy muttering quietly, almost fondly under her breath, tilting her face towards Sonic –who is still crouched there, a look of anger spreading across his face– and smiles slightly.


	20. Maria

**Okay, I think I'm starting to get there. These chapters are churning out slower than I expected, but I think I like where we're heading. I'm trying to avoid the ridiculous amount of typos that are popping up in previous chapters.**

* * *

Maria. 

**Space Colony Ark, 50 years ago. **

The problem with everything being made of metals is that the whole place seems to be _rattling_. Like an earthquake. Except that's impossible. There's no friction in space, no meteors within striking distance, and Maria knows very well that what she is hearing is _not_ just the natural distortions that come with living high above the atmosphere of earth.

She wishes it was.

She remembers her parents singing to her when she was a very small girl. She had been very young when she left them, probably no older than four, but she still recalls the sound of her older sister laughing... Those were better days, before the disease became as bad as it was, before the trip to the colony and the sterilised space suits and the cold emptiness of a world her grandfather did his very best to make _good_ for her. He came closest to succeeding when he gave her Shadow. Maria wonders if her parents know about what's happening now. If anybody warned them... Surely not. They would've told Maria if they had. They would have let her know that this was coming...

They wouldn't have _allowed _this to happen to her and grandfather.

'_You there! Little girl, stop!'_

'_Hell and blazes, man, go AFTER her!'_

'_I... sir, she's just a girl, they never said there were children here!'_

'_Child, adult, it hardly matters, she's a witness! What part of _go after her_ do you fail to understand?' _

She runs when the man in uniform sees her. She doesn't listen to the sound of footsteps echoing in the corridors behind her, or the peppered sound of gunshots and panic all around her. She tries not to think about what might happen if a misplaced shot punctures the shell of the station and lets the vacuum of space through–_stupid! All of grandfather's good work, all of those people he could've helped and they came here to destroy it. She doesn't understand why_ –The walls should be stronger than that though, they should be...

It's hard to be sure about anything. Her lungs are fit to bursting because she never runs anymore, she gets tired too quickly, and Shadow always insists on picking her up and carrying her whenever she does, cradling her as easily as her grandfather did when she was small. She always loved to run with him, and he always went faster than he probably should have because he knew she enjoyed it so much.

That was where his name came from, wasn't it? Because he followed her around so closely everywhere she went. The people on board the station started to call him _Maria's Shadow_, and the name had stuck.

Right now, Shadow is in his capsule, sleeping. She doesn't know where grandfather is. She has no idea what happened to him or the scientists he worked with, or for that matter anybody else on board. The thought of anybody hurting her friends and family makes Maria feel sick. Not the dull _wrongness _that she feels every day of her life, that's been there for so long that it feels like a second skin. But a strong, gut wrenching sickness that makes it hard to run and her eyes tear up. But she knows where Shadow is, and she goes for him as fast as she can because she knows, more acutely than she has ever known anything before, that Shadow _has_ to escape this.

_All she has to do is get to the release mechanism and_ _Shadow will get away. They'll never catch him, not ever. They can't possibly catch the fastest creature on the face of the earth_. _He'll be free. _She can't help but feel a surge of smug triumph at that thought. It wills her to run faster.

So she runs, and doesn't think about the bullets, or the fear, or of being tired of running.

When she arrives the chamber is empty and untouched. The soldiers haven't been here yet and Maria feels unspeakably grateful. Her fingers graze the panels her grandfather showed her, looking back and forth from one capsule to the other. She never knew much about what was _in _the others, if anything at all. She used to imagine things when she was too young to know the difference between science and magic: silly, madcap ideas like magical creatures and enchanted books, the kind of things that only existed in stories. Then she just stopped pretending, because what did stories matter when reality had given her the best friend she could ever hope for?

_They _won't_ have him. That's who they're here for, it must be, but they won't have him. Not my Shadow. _

'_I'm warning you! One more move and I'll shoot!' _

The sound of the gun cocking behind her snaps her back to the present, but her hands are already on the lever and her mind is already made up. It's been made up ever since they set foot on board the station and grandfather told her to run.

'_I'm warning you! We have to do this, girl! Don't you see?'_

Oh yes, Maria sees a great many things. Grandfather. Shadow. The people of Space Colony Ark, her would be salvation and her prison. Perhaps she kind of knew from the start that it would be her grave as well. But –and this was the important thing– it would _not_ be Shadow's. She sees her mother, and father, and sister and hopes that they're all safe.

What she doesn't see is the face of the man who will kill her, because she never looks.

When she pulls the lever and feels the bullet tearing through the blue of her favourite dress, before the pain hits, there is nothing in her mind but triumph, because Shadow will be _free_. It hurts like nothing has ever hurt before, more than the disease has ever hurt and she bursts into tears on instinct. All the same, she's smiling as the capsules break away and hurtle towards the blue earth far below.

The man who pulled the trigger will spend the rest of his life imagining how things could have been different, knowing the choices he could have made but didn't.

Humans are like that.

* * *

**Present day. **

'Well, I guess, it could be worse,' Amy pipes up from the seat beside me.

I can admire her optimism, however forced. The room we're in is cold, damp, and grey. Chris says it isn't the same room he was kept in before, but somehow I don't find that reassuring. The place we're in appears to be a warehouse, but I don't see what use that would be, way out here in the middle of the desert. That suggests it's a secret military area in disguise.

Judging from the mould climbing the walls, it's a very convincing smokescreen.

Sonic isn't with us. Of course he isn't. They took him away the second we arrived, and he went, because the guy with a gun kept it pressed to the back of my head the whole time and Sonic didn't dare do otherwise. Maybe he _is_ faster than a speeding bullet, but probably not at _that_ close a range_. _I don't know whether to feel guilty or not. If I hadn't been there, perhaps this whole thing could've turned out differently. Then again I'm sure they'd have turned their guns on somebody else. Amy, or the professor, or Chris – I wouldn't put anything past these people.

Of course... there's still the question of _why_ they wanted me here in the _first_ place. I don't have any answers for that, yet.

Chris is sat on the nearby bench with his grandfather, one hand clenched tightly inside of the professor's much older, bonier one. Sitting there together they look so _alike_. Heck, they _are _alike. _Everything_ from their mannerisms, to their hair. You can tell Chris spent more time with his grandfather than his parents, because that's clearly who he's taken after. He doesn't have Ms Flair's sense of drama, or Mr Thorndyke's business acumen... Then again he's only twelve, so he's probably not _anything_ yet, mentality 'd be understandable to assume they were blood relations based on what I'm seeing now, but the fact is that they aren't, not directly. Christopher has no genetic connection whatsoever to Charles Thorndyke.

Gloria's grandson, Maria's Great Nephew... Ivo Robotnik's first cousin. Eggman.

Good _grief_. As if the whole family didn't have enough problems to deal with as it is. And he doesn't even _know_ it. I'm not sure his grandfather ever wants him to find out.

'I just wish they'd hurry up and _do_ something,' Chris mutters, sounding more frustrated than actually scared. I think he ran out of terror somewhere in the desert. 'I just want to know what's going on. What're they doing with Sonic?'

'You and me both, but they can't keep us locked up here forever,' professor Thorndyke says, which... okay, that's a complete lie. They could leave us here to rot if they wanted to. I'm actually fairly sure at this point that this is the least of the fates that might befall us.

'We could try and...' Chris starts to say, but his grandfather shakes his head.

'Not a good plan. We'd probably never find Sonic in a place this big, and even if we did, there'll be guards. Outrunning a crazed megalomaniac is one thing, outrunning human bullets is... well, quite another.'

I open my mouth to comment on the fact that, usually, human bullets aren't as big a concern as Eggman falling from the sky in some ridiculous flying contraption with a brand new plot for world domination, but the fact that this is even _true_ is enough to boggle me into silence. When did our lives become so damn ridiculous?

When Sonic was sitting on the desk in my office what feels like years ago now, I could never imagine him getting angry. The expression just didn't fit, and now I see why. Sonic only feels angry when he feels helpless or powerless, and when you're the fastest hedgehog alive, such feelings don't come easily. Sonic doesn't think, he _acts_. And now he _can't_ act anymore. It must be as horrifying for him as it is for the rest of us.

'...I'm sorry.'

That was Chris. It surprises me enough that I look up. 'What's that?'

Chris shuffles embarrassedly. 'I messed up. I'm _always_ messing up. If I hadn't hesitated. It's just when I saw Amy...'

'Aw who can blame ya?' Amy sighed. 'I mean, I DO look ridiculous. It's not even the right shade of blue.'

'Chris, you couldn't have predicted this.' I say gently. This gets me a look of... well twelve year old disbelief, frankly. They do frustrated annoyance so well.

'Not just _this_ though.' He looks up at me. 'I'm not dumb, Doctor. There are a lot of things I could've done differently.'

'Maybe, but you're just a kid. You're allowed to make mistakes.' Grandpa says. 'I'd be worried if you didn't. I'm sorry, I hoped to have you and Amy out of here by now... if this is anybody's fault, it's mine.'

Amy snorts. 'No way. If this is anybody's faults it's those CLIP jerks. I mean what kind of name is that for a secret agency, anyway? It sounds silly. So... what happens now?' she asks, nervously, one of her hands fisting unconsciously into my coat.

'Now we wait, I suppose.' The professor says. 'I wouldn't worry too badly. I don't believe we're in as much danger as we might have been. We're still together, so we got lucky.' He looks at me. I can't tell: is he lying to protect the children, or does he genuinely believe that? I've seen that kind of look in a man's eyes before. It's the look where he's been scared or angry for so long that he has quite literally run out of fear. That kind of thing can go either way in a patient. It's one of the things I'm trained to look out for.

Still, what he's saying makes no sense whatsoever. 'I wouldn't call this **lucky**, professor.' Ridiculously unlucky, in fact, because the odds of our getting out of here alive are... looking less and less likely by the moment.

But the look on the professor's face _means_ something. Now that I think about it, asides from worrying about Chris and Amy, he's seemed rather composed about the whole being-locked-up-by-the-government thing we've got going on here. There's a plan at work here. One I don't think I'm entirely in on which, frankly, has been the story of my life these last few days.

'This is all pretty terrifying, isn't it?' the professor says resigned. 'I'm so sorry for getting you all into this, we should never have... well, it seems like you were all involved all along anyway, weren't you? Nothing I could've done to stop that.' There's a silent pause while both Chris and Amy look at their grandfather in confusion. I must be wearing the exact same expression, because the professor turns to me. 'I think all our lives have been meddled with for a lot longer than any of us were aware.'

It's funny, but for some reason, I remember dreaming of Maria. The dream is still vague and unclear, as dreams have a tendency to be. But I know her life was meddled with and planned out for her too, when she was too young to do anything about it. Maria, Gloria, Project Shadow, Sonic... It's all connected.

And right now, the professor is being... decidedly _cryptic_, considering what I've seen of him so far. And he was never the easiest of people to parse. I mean, he's not the type of guy who can complete a rubiks cube, while simultaneously having the intellect to design jet engines. Chris is confused too. Maybe he's seeing a side to his grandfather that he's never encountered before. He looks looking at me, as if seeking reassurance that I can't give him. I try anyway. I don't think my smile reassures anybody.

'Uh... sorry I think I'm missing something.' Amy says. 'What're you talking about, grandpa?'

'Don't worry about it for now, Amy. Until this is over, the less you know the safer you'll all be. We'll explain everything to you all later, when this is over and done with.' He gives me a smile.

I feel less certain of anything than I have all day, and that's really saying something.

The CLIP agent comes to see us a few minutes later. Chris jumps out of his skin at the sound of the bolt sliding back on the other side of the wall. So does Amy, though she does a decent job of hiding it. Grandpa Chuck doesn't as much as flinch. It's the same man from before: not the man whose eyes seemed wild through the hole in his mask, but the other one. I won't call him kinder, not given what he's gotten us all into but still, I'd rather have him around than the other guy.

'Professor Thorndyke, I presume.'

'Yes, we've already met. As I recall you were pointing a gun at my head.'

The agent... hesitates slightly. I remember that hesitation from out in the desert and it dawns on me to wonder: how many people, when they were recruited to CLIP, truly knew what they were getting into How many of them realised what kind of things they'd have to do as part of this job, and why do they consider it worth it? 'So I was.'

'And how much longer are you planning on keeping us here?' I pluck up the nerve and ask, not really sure yet if I want to know the answer.

'For... as long as it takes, ma'am. I'm afraid I don't know much more than you do at this present time,' he steps back, arms folded, nowhere near the gun I can see in his belt. 'Understand that our agents are trained to do whatever is necessary to protect their country. Sometimes... the things we do aren't pleasant.

Is he... trying to explain himself? I have to admit, I'm surprised. Still, I doubt they're _all_ madmen and maniacs here; you can't stock a secret government agency with a bunch of complete wildcards. Maybe this guy is the steadiness to his partner's wildness.

'I'm sorry,' he's looking directly at Chris now. 'I promised you you'd get home earlier and... It hasn't worked out that way. Didn't mean to lie.'

'Oh great, that makes everything better,' Amy snorts, before Chris can get a word in. 'Listen buster, I don't care who you are or who you work for! You've got no _right_ to talk to him after what you've done. Where did you take Sonic?'

'Your friend is safe, if you're worried about him, Miss Rose. He would be of no use to my employer in any other state...'

There's a brief moment of silence before a quiet voice pipes up. 'What about us, Michael?'

Chris is staring right at the man before us, shaking and biting his bottom lip, but holding his gaze quite firmly. The agent –_Michael_, he gave Chris his _name_? – doesn't say anything. This kind of tells me all I need to know really. I hope the kids aren't as perceptive as I am.

'I've been instructed to provide you with anything you might need while you're her,' he says eventually. 'If there's anything I can do...'

'Well I'm guessing that letting us go doesn't count as 'anything', so I'd like to talk to your employer.' Professor Thorndyke says. 'The head honcho, mind you, not just some vague higher up.'

Amy and Chris look confused for a moment, but Michael nods, as if this is exactly what he expected. 'Yes, sir, he suspected you might.' The agent is leaning down to unlock the door. 'That's why he sent me to fetch you to his office.'

Oh. Well that's... unexpected. But the man is standing aside, hands still far from his gun, allowing the professor to pass by. The reaction from Chris and Amy is immediate and alarmed.

'No,' Chris shakes his head rapidly. 'Grandpa, this isn't a good idea.'

'It's alright, son, I know what I'm doing,' Grandfather Chuck says, giving him a reassuring smile. 'Just need you both to stay here and stay out of trouble for once, eh? Think you kids can handle that.'

'You can't just go _in_ there, Doctor, they'll _hurt_ you both!' for the first time since I've met her Amy looks genuinely terrified.

'I doubt it, Amy. What use are we to them that way?'

'I'm coming too,' I blurt out, letting go of Chris's shoulder and getting to my feet. I hadn't realised until that moment how much my legs felt like jelly. My high heels feel a whole foot taller than they actually are.

'Doctor Crowley, you shouldn't—'

'I'd rather you stayed with the children,' the professor says, and... Okay that makes me hesitate. I don't like the idea of leaving them alone with this guy. But there's a plan in the works here. Chris knows Michael's name, and Michael doesn't look half the wildcard the other guy was.

'You have it on my honour as an agent that neither of them will be harmed, ma'am,' Michael says firmly.

'They've _already_ been harmed enough.'

'Physically, then. It wouldn't be good for our interactions with Sonic for one thing and besides,' Michael's eyes slip to the side nervously. 'I don't like the idea of hurting little kids.'

'Hey, watch who you're calling a kid,' Amy grumbles. Then her gloved hand wraps around my wrist, shaking slightly. 'And how about 'no'? You guys can't go in there! Not without us, anyway, let us come with you!'

I shake my head (with a little effort, actually, Amy's hammer skills might come in handy in the next few minutes.) 'No. You should stay here, Amy. Look after Chris.'

Amy stares at me for one long, desperate moment. She really is a kid right then, a scared kid who doesn't know what's happening or when she's going to get to go home or where her friends are, but she's been given something to do, and to focus on, and I know she won't be willing to leave her friend. I feel kind of bad for the manipulation, but it works. Funny how Cream wears her naiveté and innocence like a flower crown and Amy dresses it up so much, makes herself seem older than she really is. She carefully lets go of my arm, and I follow the professor out of the cell on shaking legs, moving straight from one musty smelling room into another.

'I don't care very much for this,' Michael mutters. 'I want you to know that, whatever else you think of me. The boy seems a good kid and... Hell, you're all just children and women and old men. This seems as odd to me as it does to you.'

'I don't think this is any time or place for antiquated chivalry,' I mutter, and it comes out sounding harsher than I meant it to. Can't say I've ever known such a reluctant kidnapper, but then again, I'm not familiar with many kidnappers. 'Unless you're going to help us, then I'd prefer to face our possible doom without the platitudes.'

The professor gives me an odd half smile, as if I've said something he approves of. To hell if I know what. The anger is curling in my gut and making my chest ache, like a literal heart ache. Like my brain doesn't know what else there is to lose. This is, I rationalise, the only thing keeping me going right now.

I'm starting to doubt we'll get out of this alive. I have no reason to suspect otherwise, not given what we know and where we are. We are, after all, disposable... but perhaps not so long as Sonic is here. Not so long as they need his cooperation for whatever they're doing. We're CLIP's bargaining chips, and the only thing that might keep Sonic under control.

We're led into a corridor, equally mouldy and festered, the walls peppered with old photographs from the days when this place was actually a real factory. Not the nicest of headquarters in the world, but when we reach the end of the passageway, and Michael opens the door for us, the room beyond is made of newly brushed steel.

I can only ask. '...Professor, what's going on here?'

'Who knows? But whatever it is, Ella, it's been going on for over fifty years, and it's far beyond time it was realised. Perhaps this is arrogant of me, but I believe that this is all in some way connected to my wife.' The professor says, softly enough that the guards may not hear. I'm not sure he really cares whether they do or not. 'To what they _did_ to her... it's all connected in some way to Project Shadow, and to Sonic, too. I think we may be about to find out exactly why.'

My brain is whirling at a mile a minute. 'From the same person who got us into this in the first place?'

'If you want answers to things which happened a long time ago,' the professor says. 'It's best to go to the source. Well, here we are. I asked for you to be here, Doctor... because I think you deserve the truth just as much as I do. We've both been used in this little operation...' he looks at me, smiling. 'Why don't you say we go find ourselves some answers?'

And as terrified as I feel right now... I still find myself nodding as the professor opens the door.


	21. Malcolm

**Well, here goes nothing, guys. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I was worried about my science here, but then I realised the show itself had about as much respect for scientific accuracy as a bored toddler has for it's parents expensive designer wallpaper (no seriously, they assumed the whole world forgot how _the sun and moon _work) so I figure whatever I'm about to pull, it's no less dodgy than what canon gave us... hopefully. **

* * *

**Malcolm.**

'You know I could've _sworn_ you'd be a robot, but I think that kind of mistake is acceptable, don't you?'

The man with spectacles is staring at a computer screen with a look of on his face like Tails when he's just discovered some crazy new law of physics. Sonic begins to wonder if the itching feeling he's getting is less to do with hiss growing urge to run, and more to do with those damned scanner thingies that keep shining in his eyes every couple of seconds.

He's already tried the running-straight-through-the-glass thing. That sometimes works. There's no give, though. The world around him remains steadfastly the same, and there's something about that, about not being able to take a few steps, break into a run, and be somewhere else far away from, or far closer to whatever the current problem is, which makes his quills itch. Clearly these goons have learned a little since the last time he was in one of these places.

The man in the white coat is still talking. 'Why your speed, your agility... just to function _mentally_ on the speed at which your body operates physically would take a phenomenal amounts of energy. That kind of power couldn't possibly exist in anything that wasn't manmade. But then I was thinking on a _human_ scale, wasn't I? I can appreciate that now. You're very much a biological entity.'

'Yeah, guess I'm just full of surprises. So what'd you say your name was?'

'I didn't. But don't worry, we're going to be getting to know each other quite well over the course of the next few... well however long really. My name is Doctor Kai Narasu. I was a Biology Expert assigned to Area 99 when you first arrived in this world from whatever alien landscape you call home.'

'Can't say you're ringin' any bells, Doc. Thanks for the name, though. I'll remember it.'

'Hm... your personal files courtesy of Doctor Crowley don't say anything about your being skilled in the art of vaguely concealed threats, but then again I presume you and her started out on better footing than you and I.'

'Well you do have me in this big glass cage, while your employers keep my friends locked away in some shabby underground dump, _Kai_. You know, that sort of thing kinda colours my view on a person.'

'...The wit, however, she _did_ mention.' He begins to walk away...

Okay Sonic likes to keep his cool, usually, but everything about this guy _annoys_ him. Probably something to do with the whole kidnapping and lethal force thing that he and his colleagues have going on. 'Pardon the lights,' Kai says. It's just some simple bio scanners, but I'm fairly sure the results will be conclusive. We've done enough research, really, this is all just formality.'

No idea what he's talking about, but he's still annoying. 'Yeah, you sure about that? I mean, you _did_ think I was a machine, right? That why you're not workin' for section 99 anymore isn't it?'

'Hm, now that's interesting: Passive aggressiveness... Miss Crowley didn't say anything about _that_ either Hm... considering all the information my employer seems convinced we gained from her, she wasn't really all that thorough when you get down to it now, was she?'

'Clearly she gave ya enough to go on.'

'Oh there's no denying that. Her... advice has been invaluable. We knew the boy was involved of course, but to this extent... it's truly fascinating, Mister hedgehog. The ties that bind...'

Still not making any sense. His frustration and need to run is at war with the fact that he knows if Tails were here, then Tails would be telling him to... Sonic's not sure, gather information or something, he supposes. That sounds like the kind of thing Tails would think is a good idea, so he looks around. The guy in the coat goes back to his computers and screens and starts typing at a rather impressive pace, even by Sonic's standards.

He doesn't understand a lot of this stuff and he'd be the first to admit it. Computers bore the heck out of him. But maybe Tails will understand. Sonic just has to remember what he sees so he can relay it later... Computers... machines... wisps of icy cold air swirling around the scientist's feet: to keep the computers cool; Sonic knows that much. There are no other people in the room, and Sonic wonders why for a second before realising: this must be a secret even from a lot of the people already working for CLIP. These guys sure seem to like their privacy. The other glass tubes freak him out a little... There are displays and posters too. Images of... off worlders, as he thinks the tv shows are calling them all now. Some of them are of him; others are of robotic constructions, like the kind you'd see in Eggman's labs. And then...

'Hey, that's Shadow.'

The scientist looks up from whatever he's doing, following the line of Sonic's vision to the display on the far wall. 'Well of course. Who else? I presume you know why you're here, Mister Hedgehog?'

He'd tell the guy to stop calling him that, but he doesn't exactly _want_ to be on first name terms with him, either. Dilemma. Sonic eventually settles for folding his arms.

'Mostly, because you stuck one of those gun things in my new friend Ella's face. And kidnapped one of my best friends... Heck, even Doctor Eggman doesn't hold with those guns you guys like to carry around all the time. He thinks they're unsporting, I figure.'

'Hm. Never send a man with a gun to go a giant robot's job, I presume?'

Sonic knows, logically, that hedgehogs in this world _bristle_. And roll into balls, and stuff. Chris has shown him in books, and he's fairly sure he has the defence mechanisms tucked away somewhere. But he's never felt the desire to actually _do that_ himself, excluding those times when Amy's in a really girly, datey kind of mood and his first plan then is usually to make a break for it. Sonic's never felt the urge to _hide_ before. Not the way he does now, with those lights blinking in his face and the coldness of the glass dome against his quills. 'Something like that.'

'Hm. How ironic that such a highly advanced weapon such as yourself would think so badly of a weapon based on precisely the same principles.'

'Me, a weapon? Huh. You're lookin' at the wrong hedgehog, pal.'

'Oh no, Sonic, I believe we're actually looking at the _right_ hedgehog at last. While everyone was so obsessed with Shadow we missed the obvious, you see... who would've thought the answers were right here, all along? It all comes down to time, of course. Time dilation, time variations... There are differences between our worlds which can't be accounted for by base physics. We're admittedly not certain what that all means right now, but have you at any point considered the possibility Sonic, that your origins are not what you believe them to be?'

'Origins? What're you talking about?'

'Your creation, Sonic. Your birth, if you can call it that.' The scientist is shuffling back and forth around the room now, examining dials and monitors picking up... something from Sonic. Information of some kid, Sonic supposes. He doesn't know what exactly you can find out by looking at light rays, but whatever the Doctor is seeing, he clearly approves of it. 'What do you know of it?'

'People don't remember things like that. Nobody remembers being born.'

'No. But they remember being _children_. They remember their parents... you didn't tell Doctor Crowley anything in particular about your family.'

Sonic shrugs as not-deliberately as he can manage, because damn, he's already had his brain picked over at least once this week, and that was by somebody he actually kind of _likes_. He's not dumb enough to let it happen again. 'She's already met my family.'

'Well that's endearing, I'm sure but I'm talking about genetics here, Sonic, not those whom we _choose_ to call our kin. There are something's which simply can't be chosen. Your friends the Thorndyke's know that well enough... And as for you, my living weapon, what exactly DO you know about the kin you never chose? Do you even have _any_ idea where you came from in the first place?'

'I told you, I'm _not_ a weapon!'

When the scientist laughs it's cold and humourless. 'Are you so naive as to think that is true, Sonic, or are you just playing the fool with me? Perhaps your mind doesn't work as fast as your feet, hm?'

* * *

We enter an office that looks ways similar to my own. There's even a Newton's cradle sitting on the desk. The furniture is large, heavy and practical; there are maps on the walls and a display of ornamental weapons, clearly not meant to be used, behind the desk. This is the room of somebody who is, or was, a soldier, somebody who appreciates the power and potential (not to mention the threat) of a loaded gun. There are framed certificates on the wall, the occasional photograph –all of machines or formal military gatherings, there are no personal family images that I can see: no wife or children, or grandchildren. Torn's entire life seems to have revolved around his career.

The man sitting behind the desk in front of us is not what I expected. He's balding, for one thing. His cheeks are pinched and hollow and while he's clearly tall and well built, whatever muscle he had when he was younger has atrophied with age so the suit he wears appears to be slightly too big for his frame. A strong man out of his prime. Still he has sharp, bright eyes that are probably just as alert as when he was a teenager. It takes me minute to remember who it is I'm looking at, for his name to show up in my memories.

'Corporal Malcolm Torn,' Professor Thorndyke says. 'The Director of the Covert Lateral International Program. Whatever the hell that means.'

The corporal's jaw twitches, and he stares firmly at professor Thorndyke while I try in vain to figure out exactly what is about to happen. I feel like I've come into the theatre halfway through the show, and barely had time to read the program. My mind is racing, trying to put together everything I know and make all the information I've absorbed over the last few days take the form of the man in front of me now_. _

'You know of me,' Torn says eventually. 'I'm surprised. Perhaps even flattered.'

'You could say I've been doing some research of my own.' The professor says.

'No doubt. And I presume you've turned up a lot of interesting... I won't say _facts_ about me, because everything's a matter of opinion, isn't it?' He's looking at me as he says this. I feel like a bug, being scrutinized with a microscope. Now I understand how my clients must feel every time they're in the room with me. He gestures to the two chairs in front of the desk. 'Please, sit.'

To my surprise, the professor does, gesturing at me with his eyes to do the same. It's only when I place my hands on the arms of my chair that I realise how much I'm shaking.

'I believe you requested a meeting with me,' Torn says. His voice is cordial and polite, friendly even.

'I want to know what you want with Sonic.' The professor says.

'You say you've done research, professor...' Torn says, leaning back in his chair, still smiling that unnerving smile. 'So why don't you tell me what you _already_ know, and I'll endeavour to fill in the blanks?'

'Why would you tell us anything?' I find myself blurting. 'Why... why do you think we'd assume we're going to get out of here alive if you do?'

'Oh I don't think he's promising _that_, Doctor Crowley.' Malcolm Torn says, sounding amused. 'The professor is far more intelligent than that.'

'I want you to let my Grandson, Amy, and Doctor Crowley go.' He professor says. I'm quite surprised by how... demanding he sounds, as if he honestly expects his request to be honoured.

'You believe I'd do that.' Torn replies. It's not a question.

The professor shrugs. 'You have no reason to keep them. What would they say? That they were taken by bad people to some place in the desert, blindfolded and locked up? I know fine well that you're above any authority. The rest of the world can't do anything about you. You'll just cover everything up, the same way you covered up the murder of Maria Robotnik. Not to mention Gerald Robotnik, and all those other scientists who you had locked away for _presumed crimes against the state.'_

Torn appears to think about this for a long moment. I can hear the Newton's cradle clacking and resolve to get rid of my own when I get back to my office... Except that, if I honestly believed at this point that I was going to see my office again, I'd be even more delusional than Eggman.

'So then, Miss Amy Rose. A... _pink_ hedgehog, apparently?' Torn asks, sounding slightly puzzled, as most do when talking about the Galaxy X inhabitants.

'So she tells me.'

'Mm, yes well... She has at least one ability that we might use to our advantage, and she's a worthy subject of study, so it could be worth keeping her around. And of course there's the matter of your _Grandson_. Both of them have bonded with Sonic. He'll do anything to protect them from harm. Rest assured, they _will_ be taken good care of. We wouldn't want to upset our newest prize, after all. Doctor Crowley, however...' He looks at me. 'There are... other options for you. After all, you do hold a high up position in the government. It seems a shame to waste such a resource.'

'Whatever you want from me you won't get it,' I snap. The words are out before I even know I've said them. I believe them, though, that's what matters. 'Anyway I'm one of the few people the president might listen to; if I brought this to his attention... Well, really you can't afford to let me go, and I refuse to stay and work alongside you.' I swallow the lump in my throat. 'I'd become just another of your little accidents as soon as I left... And if I'm not going to leave this facility alive, then... I want to know the truth.'

'Doctor, you don't need to do this.' The professor says, softly.

I nod, but in the back of my mind lies the half-scattered remnants of a dream I only barely remember. A little girl with blue eyes and no real life ahead of her, smiling calmly as she waits for the inevitable. I _owe_ that little girl. And I owe the family she left behind. We all do. Every one of us who closed our eyes, turned our backs, or were made ignorant through time and deception. I understand now whose memory Shadow died to protect.

I can hear the rest of the truth.

'Yes I do.'

'Very well,' Torn says, bluntly. 'Was worth a shot. I'm not a man to waste manpower needlessly. So... your grandson and your little adopted freaks are still here.'

The professor says nothing, but he doesn't have to. He knows that Torn is right. Whatever the professor's plan was, it didn't involve Amy, or Chris, or even me still being here. Now we have them to worry about as well.

Torn goes on. 'It was a good attempt at evading capture, I'll admit. Not many people would be so bold as to try and outwit my men.'

'I doubt you would've let any of us leave that desert anyway. The only reason we're still here is because we're a bargaining chip to use against Sonic. You had too much to lose by letting us go.'

I hesitate, glimpsing at the professor but he just keeps on looking at Torn, refusing to meet my eye. I suppose I haven't been forbidden from talking. Besides, at this point, what do we have to lose?

'Oh I'm sure we'd come up with something we could use against him.' Torn says. 'That hedgehog is actually remarkably easy to control, so long as you know what you're doing. And thanks to Doctor Crowley here's... exhausting reports, we have all the information we need and then some. You've played your part very well, Doctor, considering you had no idea you were playing it. I take it you know who I am.'

_I will not get mad_, I tell myself, trying to avoid meeting his gaze because I don't want those cold eyes turned upon me. It's strange, to think that the world is so afraid of innocent little creatures like Cream or Tails, when we have people like _this_ running the show behind the scenes. But I will _not_ get mad because that will mean he's winning.

'Malcolm Torn.' I say eventually. 'You're listed in GUN's records and in... Other places.'

'Places even you aren't supposed to have access to, I'm sure.'

'Maybe.' I swallow hard, trying not to look as scared as I feel. 'I think it hardly matters. They talk about your involvement in Space Colony ARK, the cover up operation that began Gerald Robotnik's descent into madness. What I discovered in those documents far outweighs any crime that might have been committed in order to obtain them.'

'Committed by you? Or committed by your bizarre little rodent friend with wings?' Torn smirks. 'You think we didn't _know_ that Rogue the Bat was snooping through our records?'

'You knew exactly what she was up to,' I say. 'Actually, I suspect you've known almost everything we were doing, or going to do, right up until this point. You had eyes and ears everywhere, didn't you?' The flare of anger comes again, bubbling up from where I thought I had it buried. 'How long have you been spying on my life?'

'Long enough. You have done your research, so you probably know the answers. But of course, we're going off on a tangent.' Torn goes on. 'Another of your little traits, Doctor.' He smiles at me. I feel sick. 'Why don't we return to what this is all really about?'

'We did assume that money was an issue.' The professor answers for me. 'After all, that's usually one of the highest motivations for kidnapping the child of rich celebrities... Thorndyke industries could provide you with all the funding you needed. But that's not accurate, is it?'

'A sensible theory.' Torn smiles, as if appreciative of my train of thought. His approval makes me twitch in disgust. 'But yes. Money is no object to us. There are people in the oval office who will listen to _us_ before they listen to him. We have no need for funding from obsessive book keepers like Thorndyke Industries. No, Sonic is all we wanted, and your family are the means by which we can maintain our control over him.'

'Why?' I snap, anger getting the better of me at last. 'What _do_ you want from Sonic?'

Torn gives me a look that suggests he's beginning to doubt my intelligence. 'You've seen him at work. You've watched all the videos of his activities worldwide. You've seen him _destroy a falling orbital weapon_ with nothing more than the Chaos Emeralds, alas, an artefact we have yet to fully comprehend. You'll be helping us out with that too, of course.'

'Go to hell.' It feels good to swear at them, breaking the act or not. The words dropping off my tongue like hot lead. I'm lighter as soon as I've spoken them however pointless it might be. 'You're a bunch of liars and thieves and killers. You _murdered_ a little girl for no reason other than that she was a witness... You lied to your country, and your president, and to the people you're supposed to protect. What IS clip anyway? Some kind of shadow government? I want no part of you.

'What she said,' the professor points at me, scowling. 'We will _never_ be a part of anything you people have created. And I'm positive Sonic feels precisely the same way.'

'But don't you see that you're already a part of it? Why it was only through Elloise here's careful study and research that we were able to develop our current strategy. Your words confirmed everything we already suspected about Sonic and his friends. You know I was rather hoping to see you. I never thought I'd have the opportunity to thank you for all the help you've given us.'

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, even terrified as I am. But it's true. I've been used, and I know it. 'I would never have written a damn word if I'd known what it was all going to be used for.'

'Hmm. I'm sure you wouldn't. But the thing is, Doctor... the odds of you having worked that out alone were extremely unlikely. If it weren't for Agent Topaz's traitorous actions, I doubt you would have realised a thing. And for the record, they too are being taken care of.' He gives the professor a nod. A prickle runs up my spine. 'We have agents watching every inch of the Thorndyke house as you assume, and they no longer have Sonic to protect them.'

_But they have others_, I find myself thinking, trying to draw some hope from the idea. _They have Tails, Topaz, and Tanaka, and heck, they can't be any worse off than _we_ are. _

Torn he gets to his feet again and turns to face the cabinet behind us, opening the door to reveal a large television set, and pulling out a DVD. He places the DVD in the machine without a word. I glimpse sideward at the professor and feel his hand squeeze my arm reassuringly. Neither of us knows what's coming.

'You know, I believe I underestimated Sonic,' Torn says conversationally. One of the most interesting things about him, which I discovered from your notes, is his tendency to bond with people. He's hardly talkative, but it's surprising how easily someone so... blunt makes friends. I didn't anticipate that he would consider you a confidant so soon after meeting you... Ergo, we didn't anticipate you becoming as involved as you are. Unlucky for you. But then, trouble does seem to follow that spiny blue rat around like a bad head cold, doesn't it? And he always drags everyone else along for the ride with him.'

I don't answer. My eyes fall on the screen, a piece of grainy colour footage begins playing across the screen, peppered with humming voices.

"_All our potential candidates are currently being recorded from several locations in this room. I hope that doesn't bother you."_

"_O-oh. No, th-that's fine. Really I-I don't mind."_

It takes a few moments for me to realise what I'm seeing, and when I do my blood runs cold. It's a recording. A recording of _me_. I recognize the awful suit I'm wearing and the way I stumble as I enter the room. The nervous pattern of my speech, the pigtail trailing down my back. I look as much like a nervous graduate as I remember feeling. Wondering why I was even there...

It's my interview with the Governmental Psychology Department. My interview for the position I hold now. Or did, until this morning. The interviewer sits there in his starched white suit, and I remember him as clearly as if it were yesterday, the judging twist of his lips while I struggled to remind myself that I had earned the right to be there and that I was, probably, more qualified than he was anyway.

"_I've read your thesis on the psychological ramifications of high ranking government work on individuals in positions of power, Ms Crowley... very intriguing, if somewhat sprawling."_

"_I... oh well I didn't score particularly highly, but..."_

"_But you believe you have something to offer us, hm?"_

"_I... I don't know about that, sir. I just want to help people. I'd like to think I've learned a lot about how to do that during my doctorate."_

"_You don't sound particularly sure of yourself, Elloise. Surely somebody who has spent so long working on a doctorate degree should have more specific awareness of their subject?"_

"_I... I suppose they should. But... knowing what I know and talking about it are two different things. I would be doing a lot less talking in this job, and a lot more listening. That's where I'm... well, the most comfortable. I always have been, I... I'm a very fast learner, sir. I'll do whatever is required." _

'What precisely is this in aid of, Mister Torn?' The professor asks, coldly, talking over our voices on the film. My eyes are still locked on the screen and truthfully, I don't need to hear it. I remember the event word for word.

'Well, Ms Crowley does_ want_ to know the truth,' Torn says. 'I am endeavouring to show it to her.'

'I don't...' I start to say, but I trail off. I can still see myself in the video, nervous and on edge, stumbling through each question. I'm sure I remember making things up as I go. And then I remember leaving the interview room, dejected and down heartened, only to get the surprise of my life a few days later when the letter arrived at my home, confirming my being granted the position.

It always _had_ seemed too good to be true.

'We've been doing some studies of our own, you see. I believe your final grade at Harvard placed you as... ninety second out of one hundred and thirty two, wasn't it? You barely scraped a pass mark in your elective course in business. When you went onto do a Doctorate, you were refused from three separate grants. You finally opted to pay for your own tuition. Which makes sense, I suppose. After all, what kind of seriously competent psychologist would be dense enough to _call up a target_ and try to remove him from his classroom, when just about _anyone_ in that building could've been a double agent? Definitely not the most astute of choices, Doctor...'

'Is there supposed to be anything productive about all this, or are you just plain cruel?' the professor snaps, but I'm not really listening to him. His words don't help.

'I have all the degrees I need and more than enough experience to qualify me for this post, Mister Torn. I don't see the point of this little trip down memory lane.'

'True. But in the end what's paper worth? On _paper_ I'm a field sergeant with a dozen medals under his belt and a free pass to every party thrown at the Whitehouse. My resume doesn't say anything about who I really am. It just shows you a lot of details that people _want _to hear. Yes, on paper you seem a decent enough bet... but the woman I see in that video isn't someone who _I _would've offered such a high ranking government position as _Head Psychologist_, don't you agree?'

I don't answer.

'Tell me, Doctor Crowley. Do you honestly think that you were employed by the government –and then chosen by CLIP to carry out these tests– because we were impressed by your _resume_?'

'If... If I was such an unimpressive candidate why give me the job?'

'Good question. And the answer is simple. You know how they say that those best suited to run the country are those too smart to consider doing so? Well, we read your essays, noticed your tangents into irrelevant areas that weren't important, your... ability to extrapolate on what's in front of you. You're smart, Elloise – just smart enough for us, but not focussed enough, not _coherent_ enough to ever do anything with the things you discover. Your one uncanny knack, is your ability to perceive the strengths and weaknesses of others without realising the true importance of what you discover. You provided us with a veritable library of information. And all,' he laughs now, actually laughs in disbelief. My blood boils. 'Because you couldn't stop _rambling_...'

...Oh.

I don't want to believe it. Just knowing that I handed the information that could get Sonic captured right into CLIP's hands, is bad enough... but the idea that the last few years of my life, my entire career, has all been some elaborate sham, that I'm just some tool to them to be used as they wish...

'You could've asked _any_ psychiatrist for the same thing,' the Professor puts in. 'Doctor Crowley isn't to blame for being used and your vindictiveness knows no bounds if you think _taunting_ her with how much you manipulated her is a valuable waste of our remaining time on earth. Do the feelings of other people matter so little to you?'

'Far from it, the feelings of others are very important to me. Sonic, for example...' Torn clicks his tongue in amusement. 'Now _there's_ a guy who thinks with his heart, wouldn't you say? Or rather his feet, and granted they often seem to be telling him the same thing... What was it you said in your notes, Doctor? "_While primarily good natured and prone to helping those in difficulty, it may still be wise not to antagonise him in any way_."'

I remember writing those words. And because of that, though perhaps not that alone, they know the best way to keep Sonic on a lease is to stick somebody in trouble and put the weight of their lives on his shoulders.

'He's particularly protective of his friends, but the truth is, anybody would work really,' Torn goes on. 'You just have to stick somebody in front of that blue freak and he'll go out of his way to protect them. A "hero complex", I believe you called it. Christopher Thorndyke was just an added insurance.'

'An _added insurance_, to keep Sonic under control. Right,' the professor says. 'So enlighten us, Mister Torn. Why is it that you need Sonic the Hedgehog so badly that you're willing to tear all these people's lives apart?'

'—And what does it have to do with your wife?' Torn finishes a sentence the professor was clearly thinking. I'm honestly wondering that myself. How DOES Gloria play into all of this? 'That's what you're really thinking, isn't it, Charles? What _did_ happen to Gloria Robotnik? Oh, I'm sorry; I believe you knew her as Christine Thorndyke.'

'Like you said,' I whisper. 'If we're not getting out of here anyway, what's the point in secrets?'

Torn gives me a long, steady look. 'Bravery in the face of your own destruction. I appreciate that quality in an agent.'

'Appreciate it enough to give us straight answers!'

* * *

'You see Mister Hedgehog, you probably recall that just under a year ago, the remnants of the ultimate life form project were... well rediscovered, so to speak, in an abandoned laboratory underneath the city.' Sonic does his best to ignore the itch to run and pay attention. 'There we found the cryogenically frozen body of the Ultimate Lifeform project... or should that be, the Ultimate Life form Project Point two-oh? Well, either way, it had been locked in that chamber for going on fifty years. The GUN agents of the time were unable to track it, due to Robotnik's very sophisticated technology...'

'Shadow, right?' Sonic keeps staring at the poster opposite his heavily reinforced glass cell.

'Indeed. And you also know everything that happened afterwards...' the guy in the lab coat sniffs, pushing his glasses up his nose. 'Caused us quite the commotion, did that hedgehog... Gerald Robotnik was indeed a genius. However what you may not know is that Shadow's cryocapsule was not the only one released from the colony fifty years ago.'

'You're talkin' about Emerl, right? Cream's... friend.' He swallows the last word, because it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The sight of the ocean exploding upwards and Cream sobbing into the sky. Nothing he could do, because he didn't trust himself to say anything to make things right. It was too late for any of that.

The scientist smiles. 'You'd think. But no. Emerl was indeed part of the Ultimate Lifeform project... and he _was_ created by Gerald Robotnik, but he was _not_ released from Space Colony ARK. He was built in an earthbound base years before he even began the process for creating Shadow. In those days Robotnik focussed primarily upon mechanical constructions... It was only later, after he discovered your world, that he began branching out into cybertronics and of course, genetics. Emerl it not the life form I'm referring to here.'

...Oh. Okay. Well, that's weird. The scientist chuckles. 'Goodness, you _really_ don't understand, do you? Well, I did gather from the Doctor's notes that you're not exactly the sharpest tool in the intergalactic shed.'

'Whatever. You gonna explain, or leave me to wait for the ideal time to break out in peace, man?'

'Sorry Sonic, but no matter what clever plans you think you may have for escape, you will not be leaving this room or that cell. I'm under strict instructions to keep you under lock and key. Not that I _needed_ those instructions. I think it's fairly obvious what you'd do to this place if we let you out and I really would rather you _not_ destroy my workplace at supersonic speed. Where was I?' The scientist starts another scanner of some kind and Sonic winches at the sudden light in his eyes. He keeps listening though.

'Approximately fifteen years ago, CLIP was made aware of... activity, in a place they suspected of being one of Gerald Robotnik's former bases. Agents had explored it before, of course, but they had found nothing of interest and closed it up again. Seems they just weren't looking in the right places. You see hidden within a disguised corner of that facility, was another cyropod, released from Space Colony ARK over forty years previously... Robotnik created several life forms in his quest for world destruction, or betterment, depending upon who you believe.'

The Doctor pushes his glasses up his nose. He doesn't look like he knows or cares what it was. Sonic isn't sure himself. Sometimes, he wonders if Rogue was right in suspecting that Gerald Robotnik created Shadow purely for the purposes of stopping _himself_ all along. 'Where're you going with this?'

'Hm... You know, I'm not sure I'm supposed to be telling you all this.'

'Well... what harm can it do?' Sonic asks, and okay, he is _not_ getting really nervous feelings in his stomach. He's _not_. 'Like you say, I'm stuck in here. Most of this is just boring science to me anyway. I mean, if I'm gonna be stuck in your freaky bubbles, I'd kinda like to know why.'

'True enough. We owe you that much, don't we?' The scientist nods. Sonic smirks. He might not understand all of this stuff, but he _knows_ that look: it's the same one Tails gets whenever he's made some amazing discovery and just can't hold back from talking about it, even though he knows nobody else around him will have the foggiest what he's talking about. Scientists are pretty much all the same that way. This guy just won't be able to help himself.

'Fifteen years ago there was a woman whom CLIP had been tracking, on and off, for going on the last thirty years. One day, one of our agents found her snooping around the facility which, until that time, we had assumed was just another of Gerald Robotnik's many abandoned bases. Nothing particularly special about it, he had about a dozen of them... But this woman had access to areas we had never realised existed. Areas shielded from our technology. We believe she got information about these locations from Gerald Robotnik, in prison, a scant few weeks before he died. They tracked her to the facility, where they found her to be in the process of doing two things... First, she was releasing the Life Form in the facility from its forty year cryosleep. And second... she was opening a portal.'

'Uh... What?'

* * *

'It's erroneous to assume that transportation between our worlds is a recent phenomenon,' Torn is still talking, and through the blood pounding in my ears I'm still hearing him. 'You claim I owe you the truth. I would agree. I'm not a complete monster, I'm just doing what I believe is best for my country.'

'For yourself, rather,' I whisper. It's all I can summon up. Torn doesn't as much as glance at me.

'So,' the professor says. 'Outer world transportation has happened before, has it?'

'Yes. And Gerald Robotnik was the first and to this date only human of this world to accomplish it. To create a portal between worlds without the use of the Chaos Emeralds was a spectacular feat, but he had the genius to achieve it, and he did. Over forty years ago, Charles, on the day your wife was killed... She was in a hidden base in the very place where the project known in our files as "Emerl" was discovered... She was caught there, following instructions that we believe she got from _Robotnik_ when meeting with him at the prison a few days earlier. This was not long before Robotnik recorded his last message and set in motion his plans to have his weaponized beast destroy the world as we know it.'

'His last act of rebellion against those who imprisoned him,' the professor said, his voice dry and cold. I think we're both getting pretty numb to earth shattering revelations at this point.

'Indeed. Until that moment we hadn't been certain that Gloria was even alive and god only knows how _he_ knew. She had dropped off the radar years earlier, when she married you, no doubt. We never knew the identity of her Son's father, and I presume you didn't either. Of course to have a child out of wedlock at such a young age was highly frowned upon especially back then. Hence, when you met her, she was pretending that her son was in fact her brother, and that her parents had been killed in an accident. Which is only partly true.'

'Took me years to work it out,' Charles mutters, seemingly to himself. 'I was very young when I met her... didn't ask her to marry me for a decade.'

'Going to the prison to meet her grandfather was the second to last mistake Gloria Robotnik would ever make.' Torn goes on. 'Gerald knew that the only person he could trust now would be a member of his family... We're not sure how he contacted her, probably had people working for him in the prison even then, but whatever the case, your wife was acting under directives from her grandfather when she accessed that facility, and released the prototype for the Ultimate Lifeform. Of course I ordered my people to stop her using whatever means necessary... but it was too late.'

'So you murdered her and covered it up,' I whisper. And suddenly I can see it all playing out in my mind: Maria'a older sister, desperate to do one last bit of good for the family she lost. A woman trying to give her grandfather, who she probably only ever knew as a kindly, intelligent old man, his final wish, and to free an imprisoned soul from eternal slumber: And that soul was the prototype for the ultimate lifeform.

'When my agents arrived at the facility, we found her opening a portal and sending Gerald Robotnik's original prototype back to the world of it's origins. A world where it would fit in, and be accepted. Until then he had worked purely with mechanics and cyber technology, but eventually Gerald began to branch out into genetic research... and from those trials was spawned the creature from which all the other experiments came.'

'The monster on board Space Colony ARK...' the professor says weakly, although I can tell he's kidding himself. He doesn't believe that anymore than we do. No. The monster on the ARK wasn't the prototype Ultimate Lifeform. Not the first one, anyway. It was a deliberate creation designed as a defender of the facility, and was probably never even intended to _be_ an Ultimate Life Form. What kind of magnum opus would _that_ have been?

* * *

'It took us years to figure out what the portals were all about... truthfully it was sheer luck that you emerged in this world when you did. We thought that you'd been lost forever,' Doctor Kai Naumra goes on. He's smiling, and his expression just plain freaks Sonic out, even more than what he's saying does. 'Don't you see, Sonic? It was _you_. You were the creature that Gerald Robotnik's associate threw into the portal fifteen years ago, sending you back to the very world that spawned your genesis.'

'I...' No. That can't be, can it? He was born in the other world, Sonic is sure of it. Well, almost sure. And okay, so he never had parents but that wasn't so unusual: neither did Tails, or Knuckles, or Amy. Lots of people grew up without parents. It was perfectly normal where they came from. If Chris had come from their world he would've been working by now or something. 'That's crazy. It isn't true.'

'Think whatever you wish, Sonic, but the tests make it perfectly clear. Do you really think a _normal_ hedgehog, even from your world, could possess the abilities you do? Certainly, your world _does_ seem to churn out the strangest things... Flying bunny rabbits, hammers materialising out of nowhere... mutants,' he chuckles. 'But nothing quite like you. Your ability to harness the powers of the chaos emerald is almost unheard of; your maximum speed impossible in any biological being. You're a mutant, born of science and technology. You never _had_ parents, or if you did then they were mere donors, probably creatures from your world manipulated to Gerald's cause.' He gives Sonic a moment, probably to let this sink in, but when you think as fast as Sonic does it's far too long. Sonic watches the man walk over to the image of Shadow on the wall, standing beneath it and staring.

'Okay so... so if all that's true an' I wasn't even born in my world, why'd that woman send me there?'

'I suppose because her grandfather wanted to give you some semblance of a future...' The scientist answers. 'To send you back to a world where you would be accepted, before he destroyed everything this one was... I don't think he ever expected you to return, but thus is life. And now, here we are,' the scientist extends a hand brandishing to the room around them. 'Back in the place where it all began. Gerald Robotnik's prototype has finally come home.'

Sonic isn't used to being freaked out. It's not a big thing for him. Usually he just runs until he can get whatever's bugging him out o his system, but there's nowhere to run here. He can feel a faint tremble running through his quills and can't work out if the sensation is coming from him, or from the room around him. He thinks of racing Shadow through the streets of Station Square, of following him to Space Colony Ark... Dealing with Gerald Robotnik's lizard freak alongside him, the Chaos Emeralds power burning in their bodies and swallowing Shadow whole. Now Sonic understands that it was never really a case of him being able to keep up with Shadow. It was a case of Shadow being able to keep up with _him_. Because Shadow _was_ Sonic with all the... well, Sonic-ness ironed out of him. Shadow was created in order to surpass him.

And isn't that just the weirdest thing ever?

The scientist is staring at Sonic now, with something akin to glee, or even reverence, in his expression. 'You're our missing link, Sonic. Shadow was the final product of the Ultimate Lifeform Project, Sonic. But you? You were the _first_. And from you we can finally replicate the true origins of Gerald Robotnik's work. From you...' he trailed off, almost laughing. '...We can create armies.'


	22. Lindsey

**Sorry for the long pause. Like the dork I am, I forgot all about the chapter I had half finished just before I went on holiday, and given my track record... well, here's the next chapter anyway. This is, as they say, where things get really complicated.**

* * *

Lindsey 

_Ring. Ring. Ring. _

'Hello, this is Filmdom City, Camera Crew and Audio department, Milton speaking, what's up folks?'

'...Tomasina? Is that you, dear?'

'Mrs Flair! Is that you? We've all been so worried!'

'I'm sorry, dear; I suppose the studio has been quite a buzz.'

'Well... it's none of my business of course, but it's just that you _never_ leave the set that way, so everyone's sure it must be something serious. All that stuff on the news about Sonic and... Oh, we don't even know what he's _done_, Lindsey, but it's all over the news. They say that if we see him we're to contact the police straight away. But I _know_ you would never harbour anyone who had done anything wrong, Ms Flair, we're all certain there must be a mistake... I mean, this has happened before, right? That fuss with the sun balls and the mind control and Eggman running for president and—'

'Of course. I knew I could rely on you, Tomasina; rest assured I have full faith in my crew's abilities to show some restraint. I'm afraid I don't know much more than you do in that respect, but I'm sure that it will all be sorted out very soon. I was looking for you, as it happens, my dear.'

'Well, Mr Clinton says you don't have to return yet of course, take as long as you need to get whatever it is sorted out and... Wait, me?'

'...'

'Mrs Flair?'

'Tomasina, how long have you been my audio director?'

'Um, it'll be six years this September Mrs Flair, on the fifteenth. Your housekeeper Ella baked me a cake last year.'

'You're a sweetheart, dear. And in that time you've done amazing work. You've never once let me down.'

'...Ma'am? Are you alright you... sound kind of like you're coming down with something.'

'Oh I'm fine, dear, just fine. I need to ask a favour of you, Ms. Milton. Quite a substantial favour, actually. I will fully understand if you decide you don't wish to be involved. But please understand when I say you are my final hope. You could be of a great help to me... and to my son. I'm unable to leave my home right now.'

'Of course, what is it you need?'

'Well... oh dear, this is quite forward of me, but Ms Milton there is a... visitor waiting in your office at this moment. I would like you to meet with them to discuss what I mean.

'...A visitor? Wait, in my office? Now? Uh... Exactly how'd they get past...?'

'I'm sure he has his ways. Now, Tomasina, I need you to listen to me very carefully. The boy in your office right now is one whom I would gladly trust with my life. So please, my dear, please trust me enough to _not_ call the police.'

* * *

'...Armies.'

The word leaves a bad taste in his mouth however little he understands it. Armies, like the ones that attacked the egg sphere with his friend inside of it, like the one that locked Cream away in a little glass bubble.

'Of course.' The scientist returns to another computer screen, stepping back so as to show Sonic the image on the display. 'Though say there are only about fifty of them right now. Just a trial, you understand. The Sonic X program will create automatons, in your image, using the patterns we obtained from your own mind. The artifices will be based upon your physical tendencies, your instincts and your behaviour patterns, and by analysing these patterns, along with utilising tissue samples to recreate the appropriate physical conditions –I assure you it won't hurt, we will be able to replicate them... I'll assume from the bemused look on your face that you consider this to be frivolous technobabble, though, so to put it in laymans terms for you, Sonic, we're going to photocopy your brain and stick it in an artificial life form. Is that simple enough for your limited range of understanding?'

Well, that explains why he's felt as if somebody's running a fine toothed comb through his brain for the last twenty minutes. They kind of _have _been. 'Sorry, man, there's only one me.'

'Oh, indeed. And to try and delve into the kind of biological experimentation Gerald Robotnik did would, I believe, be a waste of time. Honestly, I think Robotnik was on the right track with his early experiments: machines, technology. He just didn't push things far enough. He didn't consider the advantages of _merging_ the biological with the technological. Not my strong point, you understand, but we have scientists who know better than I. People who know just what to do with Gerald Robotnik's prototype.' He smiles broadly, terrifyingly, into the black of a computer terminal. 'I can't wait to show you what we've done.'

...The ground is shaking.

Sonic is sure he's been feeling it all along, but it's only now that he realises whatever it is, it's nothing to do with the thousands of machines whirring all around the room. It's a familiar vibration coming up from beneath them. Something burrowing through the ground...

'Yeah thanks, but no thanks. I mean, I get enough of the giant robot shtick from Eggman, so—'

'Sonic you're still labouring under the impression that there's anything whatsoever you can do about this situation. From the inside that glass is completely inescapable. I fail to understand your reluctance. Haven't you ever wondered about your purpose in life, Sonic? If there was something you were always meant to do?'

Sonic snorts under his breath because seriously, what _is it _with humans and their need to have a purpose all the time? The closest thing Sonic's ever had to a purpose, he supposes, is kicking Eggman butt. And if Eggman weren't around... well, he'd just keep running anyway. Keep being exactly who he is. He doesn't need to know where he came from. He doesn't _need_ to be some old scientist's clever experiment.

'You know, a person's destiny isn't always as obvious as you might assume. Ever since I was a child, I had an interest in animals. Even before my biology degree I was an expert in the lives of all creatures. I always felt that a place amongst _them_ would be my destiny... who would've thought I'd end up here, amongst all these machines... But I do feel, Sonic, as if this is the place where I belong. You and I are going to make history together. That's the fate which was written for you fifty years ago. It's the fate too many have died to try and prevent. What we do today will change the face of the world, just as Gerald Robotnik expected.'

The scientist is wandering across the room muttering some spiel about purpose and destiny and Sonic knows there's no point in trying to tell him anything. This guy's in a total world of his own. Still he's not sure how much more of this rhetoric he can take, so he's actually kind of relieved when the rumbling, shaking sensation beneath the ground peaks out, and the tremor is replaced by the sound of the tile floor cracking upwards. Kai Namura flinches away, having been so wrapped up in his little speech that he never even felt the tremor coming.

And okay, so Sonic's not big on having to be rescued, usually. But the _look_ on the Doctor's face when Knuckles appears smack bang in the middle of the computer room with his hands encased in the shovel claws? Totally worth it.

* * *

'We've gathered scientists the world over for this for well over a year now, you see. And we finally believe we've hit the breakthrough we were looking for,' Torn says. 'Your reports were a help, but they were mostly just the means by which the prototype could be controlled. What we really needed was to have Sonic here; in this facility... Honestly I can't believe you thought we'd ever mistake that girl for a convincing imitation. I suppose that's the kind of inane planning that desperation will get you. Still, I can respect you for trying.'

'And here I thought I couldn't feel more disgusted than I already do,' the Doctor mutters, apparently mostly to me. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be a joke. If it is then this really doesn't seem like the best time for it. 'And tell me, Torn. What is it you plan to do with all these... Sonic clones, or robots or whatever it is you think you're doing? Planning to replace the entire military force of the United States with clones or something?'

'Well, that would be a good start I'm sure, but we're not exactly talking about cloning. I think we've all seen how well Robotnik's biological life forms worked out. Think of what we can _learn_ from Sonic, Doctor. About the other world, about his abilities... imagine the government being able to harness Sonic's power in their technology.'

'You mean in their weapons.'

'You think that's our only goal with this mission? That the purpose of this operation begins and ends with some fifty year old madman's plot? And he _was_ a madman, however altruistic you might believe his intentions. After all, who builds an entire space station, recruits a team of scientists fifty five strong, and attempts to break the laws of biology itself, just to find a cure for one little girl?'

The professor looks at Torn with something that's almost but not quite pity. 'A grandparent.'

Torn says nothing.

'Whatever plans you have,' I say, carefully, knowing it's probably pointless to do so, but feeling the need anyway. 'They shouldn't come at Sonic's expense. He's not just some prototype or... or missing link, he's a _person_. Even if your plans ARE for the good of mankind, which I seriously doubt, what kind of world would this be if we sacrificed one person for the good of many?'

'How about the world we're already living in?' Torn scoffs, all formality gone now. He isn't speaking to us as a military man anymore. I wonder if that's actually a mask he's been wearing all his life. 'That's where you and I differ, Professor Thorndyke. The bigger picture doesn't enter into your limited, familial scope at all, does it? The human race is inherently selfish, of course. You can't imagine that maybe the death of Maria and her sister was for the benefit of the world. Sometimes people die so that others can thrive.'

'Sometimes, maybe, but you had no reason to kill those people!' I snap.

'Ah. You see, Elloise, this is why I am one of the most powerful individuals in the entire world, and you aren't. You really don't understand the concept of doing what _needs_ to be done.'

_What needs to be done_, he calls it. I swallow the bile in my throat. Maria Robotnik was a _child_, for god's sakes, a harmless little child. Just like Chris, and Cream and even Amy when she remembers how old she is and acts it. Maybe Maria's death was just a tragic accident, but it _wouldn't have happened_ were it not because of the same paranoia Torn is spouting now. And what about Gloria? She was no accident. Chris's kidnapping, and then Sonic's, were no accident. The lasers being shot _at a small child_ while she ran terrified through the corridors of an alien world were _no accident. _

This kind of power in the hands of a man like Malcolm Torn, who can't even understand what a grandparent would do to save his grandchild... The thought chills me.

'And so that's the culmination of your brilliant stratagem,' the professor says coldly. 'I'm almost impressed. You and Sonic have something in common it seems, when it comes to determination.'

Torn chuckles. 'I'm not sure whether that's intended to be an insult or a compliment.'

'Take it however you wish.'

There is of course, logically, no reason right now why we should be allowed to leave this room. Alternatively, it's not as if there's a great deal we can do about our situation. Whether we die now, or tomorrow, or in fifteen minutes time is hardly relevant. So I'm not sure whether to be surprised or not when Torn turns to the door and snaps out an order.

'Eddison,' Torn snaps, and the guard from before pushes open the door behind us. Which isn't something I expected to ever see again. But today has been full of surprised. 'Please escort Mister Thorndyke and Miss Crowley back to their friends. They will be dealt with at a more convenient time.'

And just like that, it's over. There's a hard, heavy hand on my shoulder and I'm being pulled to my feel, Michael's face cold and blank, betraying no emotion whatsoever. Everything I've ever known has come crashing down around me, and there seems to be no way out.

An army of Sonic's... somehow that idea doesn't seem as humorous as my crazy mental images should make it appear. _Not clones_, Torn said. So what else could it be? A Sonic without a soul and without a heart, without even the adrenaline that keeps him running. Hundreds of them, a force to keep the whole world in check. That's what Torn's planning here. I still don't entirely understand his involvement in Space Colony Ark, and I suppose I never will, but this isn't some altruistic plan of a man who desires world peace. This is a man who doesn't even understand the worth of going to extremes to save a single chid so why should I assume he'd have any respect for the rest of the children on the planet?

As it turns out, fate isn't quite finished with us yet.

I wasn't expecting anybody to shoot my guard in the back. There's the snap-hiss of a firearm, and he drops like a cannonball. The second guard tries to react but it's already too late for him, too. I'm not sure exactly what hits him –sounds like a boot, or the butt of a gun, but he too drops like a stone and I can finally turn around to look our unexpected saviour in the face.

Agent Topaz stands there, with a look on her face like she just eavesdropped on one of the more disturbing conversations she's ever heard in her life.

'Topaz?' It's a reflex to ask. I can damn well see it's her, but I have to be sure. 'Did... did you just...?'

'Nah,' she says, waving the gun meaningfully. 'Good ol' fashioned GUN issue tranq darts, Doctor Crowley. Never leave base without 'em.'

* * *

'So you _are_ here to get me out of the bubble right?'

'Yeah, yeah, sure, I'm working on it! Damn it, Sonic You couldn't have gotten yourself locked up somewhere a little less _subterranean_? I've been digging around down there for an hour!'

He's running from machine to machine, examining the screens, probably contemplating whether just ramming the shovel claws into the terminals would be a good strategy.

'Hey, I've been here for way longer than that! What were you_ doing_ for all the other hours?

'Helping Rouge dig another tunnel! Look, hedgehog, we can't all be speed freaks, just be patient for once on your life! I don't see _you_ helping to break yourself out!'

'Like I haven't been tryin' for the last couple of hours? Where are Chris and Amy?'

'With any luck they're halfway out of the desert by now, but with that Bat as a tour guide who can tell? She'll probably get distracted by a diamond mine or something. And you—!' He turns to where Doctor Namura is tapping forlornly on the inside of a nearby closet door. 'Shut up already! We'll let ya out _after_ we've stopped your boss from doing... whatever the heck it is he's doing. Urgh. You humans and your complicated plots and schemes... Now I know where Eggman got his stupid overly long ideas from.'

So Sonic stays quiet, somehow, waiting for what feels like an eternity and is really more like eighteen seconds while Knuckles continues his way too intense exploration of the room they're in. he's muttering the whole time about reckless blue hedgehogs and 'utterly stupid escape plans' and 'annoying bats'. Sonic wishes he'd just get on with it already. 'Yeah, _still_ stuck in here.'

'Will you pipe down? I'm trying to think of the best way to get you out without alerting the whole facility. If I smash this computer they're bound to sound an alarm.'

'So we'll outrun 'em! Come on, like we can't outrace an emergency door.'

Knuckles considers this, then stares at the display board for all of fifteen more seconds before he gets bored, says 'Ah, screw this,' and rams both fists into the nearest panel as hard as he can. The machine crackles, spitting electricity and flickering. The screen implodes inwards, and Knuckles is thrown the other way, but Sonic can feel the intense prickling die down in the back of his head, and something about the prison he's encased in seems to change, weaken.

When Knuckles turns and throws is fists right into the place where the machine connects with the glass bauble, the whole thing fractures into pieces.

* * *

I have no idea how Topaz managed to get here in one piece, but at this moment I'm too happy to see her to care.

'Led us on a merry dance there, didn't you, professor?' Topaz smiles nervously. 'We thought you'd be in the same place as your grandson and friends. Guess not.'

The professor smiles, all relief and amusement. 'Well, it's just I never had the opportunity before to play the old Bond routine, you know? Tricking the grand villain into revealing his plan to the world.'

Jokes again. I still fail to see how this is in any way the time, but I'm beginning to realise that perhaps that's just a Thorndyke coping mechanism. A way to distract themselves from fear by concentrating on humour.

Not a trait Chris has picked up, it seems.

'...But it's good to see you, Topaz.' The professor goes on. 'At least one person in GUN still has our backs.'

'By the time this is over, sir, you'll hopefully have a lot more than just me. Rouge is heading for your friend and grandson's cell right now. You don't have to worry about them.'

'You're positive?' the relief on the professor's face is almost palpable.

'Absolutely. There's no cell in the world Rouge can't break into or out of.'

The relief hits me a few seconds later. The kids will be fine, at least. And with them free Torn loses at least some of the power he would've had over Sonic. I'm so caught up in the feeling that I barely notice Topaz shoving a handkerchief in front of my face. I didn't realise I was crying until that point.

And really, how pathetic is that? I'm in an underground bunker with people who want to kill me, and all I can think about is how CLIP _used_ me... That I was just some stupid, _stupid_ little girl. That I was never worthy of anybody's time at all.

'Hey, had enough, huh?' Topaz sounds sympathetic. It's funny but a part of me expected her to have no patience for this. From what I've seen of her so far, Topaz doesn't deal with overreactions and melodrama.

I have to force my fists to unclench. Alright, not crying anymore. That's better. 'S-sorry. I know this is ridiculous.'

Topaz smiles. 'Hey, bursting into tears when you've got guys with guns out to kill you and the whole country is turning against you? I can think of _less_ logical things to do.'

'Oh?' I sniff. 'And how many people do you meet every day that have doomed their friends to become some... insane militant's _Frankenstein's Monster_ because they didn't bother to read a little closer into what they were being told to do?'

'...Admittedly you're the first one there.'

'Look, I don't know why I need to say this but you're not entirely to blame here, Doctor.' The professor says, after a moment. 'You were just following instructions; you didn't know you were doing any damage.'

'You mean,' I point out. 'You mean just like those soldiers didn't know the harm they were doing when they went to Space Colony Ark? Because they were _just following instructions_? Maria Robotnik still died, professor. Your wife still died. Somebody has to take reasonability for that.'

'Maybe,' Topaz says. 'But let's get out of here alive, before we start assigning blame to anyone except Malcolm Torn.'

The distant echo of voices drags us both out of a stupor. What the hell am I _thinking?_ Now is not the time for a complete breakdown. 'You're sure Chris and Amy are okay?'

'Don't worry,' Topaz smiles. 'Rouge was getting really, _really_ bored at the Thorndyke residence with a bunch of guards hanging around outside in the most conspicuous way imaginable.'

The professor groans. 'Oh lord, we're going to be all over the six o clock news on channel one again, aren't we?'

'Actually,' Topaz smirks, 'if we can pull this off, then the six o clock news will be the first of many. Meanwhile, you and the Doctor need to get out of here. We'll handle things from here.'

'Oh? You and who's army?' The professor asks. 'It's just you, Rouge, and a school teacher on our side of this whole damned mess.'

'I've succeeded in tougher situation with smaller teams, Professor. Believe me; I know what I'm doing.'

'Agent Topaz, I appreciate your need to protect us but so long as my grandchild and Amy are safe, then I'm not leaving this facility until I get answers. We're going to the heart of this, and we're going to help Sonic end this nightmare before it begins.'

The professor will accept no argument. Even now after all the guns and threats and the world being pulled from under our feet, he remembers what was done all those years ago. I know he's thinking of his wife, and of the penance Torn owes her. This is something he has to do. I find myself nodding in agreement. 'I'm going with you.'

'Doctor, it would be better for you to leave.'

'Why? Because I can't handle it?' Sir, forgive me for being extraordinarily blunt, but you aren't exactly a GUN operative yourself. I got you all into this, you have to at least let me try and help you get out of it.'

'You're both _crazy_, you do realise this? You have no training for these scenarios, you're completely outmatched and I know for a fact neither of you know how to handle firearms.'

Well, she's right about that one. Just the thought of handling the gun they gave me earlier made me sick to my stomach. I don't think I could pull the trigger if you gave me all the money in the world. 'Well, killing is what got us into this mess anyway, so at least we'll have the moral high ground.' The professor says.

'Yeah, keep telling yourself that when these guys catch up to you and don't feel quite as philosophical! You both have to get out of here!'

'You don't have time to guide us to the exits,' I point out. 'You didn't think we'd be here, right? You didn't factor our separation into this plan.'

'Alright, so maybe this wasn't the most technically sound of plans, but...'

The professor isn't letting her off though. 'She's right, Topaz, if any of us are going to have a prayer of seeing life as something other than fugitives in the future, then we need to get to the root of all this and fix things. You can't do that _and_ get us out of the building.'

Topaz looks like she's going to argue, but the sound of yelling and nearby footsteps is echoing up the corridor. 'Looks like the decision was just made for us, everybody go!' she yells before shoving us both bodily around the corner up ahead, the sounds of the guards behind.

I've said this before: I'm at my most comfortable when I'm in a situation that I know and understand. This dark, ugly corridor in the middle of an abandoned complex isn't _my_ environment. This isn't where I'm comfortable or where I fit in or where I can make a decent guess at whatever is going to happen next. This isn't a situation I can come to understand just by writing notes and running up reports. My psychology degree isn't going to help me here.

My ability to run for my life in high heels, however... Now _that_ might actually be useful right now.

It's all relative, really.


	23. Tomasina

**Sorry for the delay with this chapter, folks. I hate to make excuses, but I've been having something of a difficult time lately, and fanfic was the last thing on my mind. Hopefully I'll be able to get back to some semblance of regular updates again.**

* * *

Tomasina. 

The alarms start ringing roughly thirty seconds after the professor, Topaz and I begin running.

They're accompanied by a sound effect normally reserved for four-minute warnings. That sound has always freaked me out, for obvious reasons, but even more so now that it's directed at _us_ rather than at some theoretical H-Bomb. I hear Topaz muttering 'damned stereotypical alarms, what is this, a B Movie?' but I'm too busy running for my life to comment. I'm just trying to keep up with what's happening.

_And what is happening, exactly_? Asks the tiny, annoying little voice in my brain that hasn't spoken up for a while. _What exactly is it that you hope to accomplish here_?

I'd be a liar if I said I knew the answers. All I know is we're running through the corridors of a government base in search of... something. I don't know exactly what. Some kind of ridiculous lab filled with tanks and pupil-less, soulless, Ultimate Life form point zero replicas? I doubt it. It's not _clones_ of Sonic they're after. It's all the skill and power of Sonic minus anything close to a heart.

'This is ridiculous,' Topaz curses. I can see her disbelief written all over her face. She looks very much like_ I_ imagine I did they day I walked into my office to see my next patient list for the week included one S. Hedgehog in its line up. I'd thought it was a joke at first, snapped at a couple of my more prank-oriented colleagues (yes there are pranksters in the government, you'd be surprised) and had to take the letter to my superiors for confirmation of its veracity.

Things have changed. And now Topaz is pressing a gun into my hands, making me close my fingers around it.

'I hope you're not going to hand _me_ one of those things,' the professor yells over the alarms. Topaz says nothing. I think she's grasped by now that he's about as willing to take a gun as Rouge would be willing to walk away from a pile of jewels the size of her head.

'Sorry sir, but the two of you weren't exactly part of this plan; you should've been out of here by now.'

'And what exactly IS the plan anyway?' I swallow, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice just a little (it's been a long day), 'Run around until we get caught?'

'Well actually that's only part–' Topaz starts to say.

The sound of gunshot, and the sight of the metal wall denting just a few feet from her temple cuts her off. We run again.

* * *

It takes longer than Knuckles feels it really should for them to take out the computers. And there are a lot of computers. Really, how many machines can it possibly take to do... whatever it is they're doing here anyway? Knuckles is starting to think that maybe humans just _enjoy_ drowning themselves in all of this artificial, metallic garbage and shutting themselves out from the real world. Like they're scared anything even vaguely green penetrating their cosy artificial shells.

The others think Knuckles doesn't notice these things. He lets them assume they're right.

Still smashing the thigns up is vaguely satisfying, after the week they've had. By the time they're done, there are cracked screens and hissing electrical circuits all over the room, ganglions of machines and wiring torn out and broken apart. The air is red and flashing and the sirens are too loud to be comfortable but at least, they're quieter now. Sonic must have busted up the speakers. Now Sonic is crouched on the ground in front of Knuckles, the soles of his shoes smoking ever so slightly, as tends to happen when he tries to kick up Sonic speed on a metal surface.

Honestly, he looked like he enjoyed that a little too much.

'There.' Knuckles snaps. 'Are we done already? I think we've caused enough chaos for now, and those alarms aren't ringing to alert people that it's time for lunch, you know.'

'Aw don't be such a party pooper, Knux, you know you love the chaos.' Sonic's voice is light, but there's an edge to it that only somebody who's skirmished with him several times would notice. The slightest quiver of uncertainty. Something happened here, that's for sure. He hasn't just been sitting in a bubble bored out of his mind for hours. (A bubble which, it turned out, was much easier to break from the _outside_. Human designs tends to be flawed that way. You'd never get this from good old fashioned Echidna temple traps.)

'All the same, Sonic, I _think_ all the creepy metal machines are dead.' He's just waiting for more of those annoying guards to bust in at this point. Frankly he's surprised nobody ran in on them already. You can hear the human doctor yelling and slamming on the door of the closet you've locked him in. the sound of his frustration is oddly satisfying. 'I should tell you to get out of here already, seeing as it's you they're after but something tells me you're not _going_ to.'

Sonic looks at you, momentarily serious. 'They're all safe, right? Amy and Chris? And the professor and Ella?'

'So far as I know. They were keeping them all in the same place. Topaz is in the building. She's looking for... I don't know evidence, I guess. Something we can use to shut this place down and get ourselves off 'The United States Most Wanted' list.'

'...Okay.' He can work with that. It's not much of a plan but hey, since when did Sonic care much for planning ahead anyway? Well with the exception of right now, that is. 'I still can't believe those guys even fell for this. I mean, how dumb were these guys if they thought we actually believed THAT would work?'

'What, the whole 'dyeing Amy's quills to make her look like you' thing?' Knuckles snorts. 'I've always felt that human brains are often just sharp enough for them to impale themselves, Sonic. I wonder if all humans are this predictable.'

'I dunno, Chris is pretty smart, and so's Helen.'

'Uhuh. Tell me that again on the day one of them design's their own rocket ship like the fox kid four years younger than either of 'em. Enough yapping already, let's get out of here.'

'There's just one more thing for me to do, first.' he pauses, looking Knuckles in the face and said something that, to Knuckles utmost surprised, Sonic seemed actually reluctant to say. 'Thanks for the save... Um... You can scram now, if ya want.'

You manage to contain your grunt. It's not that you don't believe him but really? He expects you to leave him to deal with this alone_ now_? When you've stumbled across something that's bigger than anything you've ever been involved in, (excluding any possible End of the World scenarios, at least)?

'Yeah right. Pull the other claw. Amy will only whine if I leave you alone again and Tails will give me the annoyed face and yadda yadda. _Not_ worth the stress, so I think I'll stick around if that's okay with you...'

'Sure, whatever.' Sonic shrugs, as if it doesn't really matters but there's an undertone to the action that seems... less than genuine, somehow. Okay, Knuckles is now quite sure he's imagining things, because there's no way in hell Sonic could be expressing any kind of relief. 'So long as ya can keep up, that is.'

* * *

Tomasina Ducal is the twenty three year old Employee of the Flair Foundation's carefully selected film, audio and camera crew. Her speciality is the Sound Department, working with microphones and post production recording and various other tasks that she would swear blind to anybody who asked are a lot more interesting than her resume makes them sound. She's young, was even younger still when the Foundation employed her five years ago, but thanks to the Flairs she has good contacts with many media agents and organizations. She's capable and self assured and knows how to get what she wants.

She is also, at this exact moment, terrified.

Honestly, she feels she has every right, as she steers one of the company's registered cars, one of the ones with dark windows, through the streets of Station Square, trying her hardest not to flinch at passing police vehicles. 'I hope you know what you're doing here, kid. I don't think I need to tell you that you guys are all over the news right now. You're in it up to my neck. And given the height of you, that means you'd be drowning right about now.'

'I know. And we really appreciate your doing this, ma'am. Mrs Flair tells us you're very trustworthy.'

Tomasina shakes her head in disbelief at the sheer hilarity of it all. She _is_ employed by the film industry, and if she were watching this in a movie, one of those action affairs that Mrs Flair so often performs in, with the street-rough but ultimately good hearted heroine and the nervous, straight cop who's never so much as short changed a vending machine in his life, then she'd be the first in the theatre to work out they were never going to get away with this.

And yet, here she is. It's been a strange day.

'I trust Mrs Flair, kid, you can be sure of that. She's been nothing but good to me since I started working with the company. Understand that I'm doing this for her, okay?'

'I know. Don't worry about it. If anything goes wrong then we'll, um... "take the rap". I think that's what they call it.' The creature chuckles lightly. 'I guess we're already in trouble anyway , what's one more little thing?'

Tomasina shakes her head again. Except that He's... well kind of adorable, actually. Certainly now what you'd consider Criminal Suspect material. Frankly, you could mistake him for a teddy bear and take him home to your kid, and nobody would be any the wiser. She supposes that's how they've managed to remain hidden at the Flair residence for as long as they did.

How the heck he got into the Studio is something else entirely, but she's resisting the urge to ask. The last time she did that he rambled off on some high tech complex scientific explanation about Security Camera locations and artificially produced technical shutdowns or something.

The car is pulling through a pair of security gates now, and before them loon the red brick buildings of the Station Square News centre: a mere stone's throw from the Filmdom City studios, but by comparison, it looks like an office block. Her heart pounds as she opens the window just enough to show her cards to the bored man on the gate.

'Ms Ducal, right? Franklyn told me you were coming.' The woman holds out a long, perfectly manicured hand, and he just stands there for a while, watching Tomasina, waiting to see what she'll do with the kind of nervous look on his face that most kids get when introducing their friends to their parents.

It's pretty much the most adorable thing ever. Tomasina can't help but smile as she takes the woman's hand.

'I'm sorry to get you involved, Miss Ducal. It's just that... this was the only way that a Thorndyke car could get anywhere near a news station right now. I had to come through the underground,' Tails wrinkles his nose –adorably, Tomasina pointedly does _not_ think – and sniffs. 'It stunk.'

'I can imagine.' Scarlet smiles. 'And I wouldn't worry about it. I like to think of myself as a bit of a rebel of the news agency. And hey, if this doesn't bring in viewers then I don't know what will. Let's see if we can make some world news this evening, hm, Tails?'

Thomasina looks at them, at the relief on Tails face that finally, _finally_ there is somebody here who believes him, and at Scarlet's firm expression. She's peaking before she can stop herself: 'I... what can I do?'

They look at her. 'Well...I'm here now. Might as well make myself useful'

The beam on Tails face makes the worried, tangled feeling in her gut feel just a little bit worth it.

'Well I don't want to get my regulars involved with something that could work out badly,' Scarlet says. 'How are you at handling a camera?'

* * *

if Knuckles has to look at _one_ more of all these disturbing pictures they've just found on the walls of the next room in the facility, then he 's going to start tearing things.

The room he and Sonic are now in has a bank of computer screens against one wall ,and on everyone of them runs a recording. Most of them don't seem to display anything of note – until you check them out in slow mo and realise: they're all recordings of Sonic: running, fighting, lazing around on the roof of the Thorndyke's. The number of films that come from inside the Thorndyke home's grounds is actually kind of disturbing. And then there are the photographs, and papers strewn all over the desks, all of them screaming 'important legal documents' and 'seriously dangerous stuff'... it's like a colder, scarier, more organized version of the professor's lab during one of he and Tails' Thinking sessions. They spend a couple of seconds, forever so far as Sonic is concerned, just staring at the walls. And almost all of them are of hedgehogs, in some way or another.

'Look at all this... There are more pictures of ya on the walls here than there are crayon drawings in Chris's class.'

Sonic has stopped in front of a picture that looks, disturbingly, like a newborn from their world. Labels and tags marking out important notes. Honestly, Knuckles finds the whole thing more than a little creepy. 'Heh. Yeah well... they're not _all_ me,' Sonic says. 'Not exactly.'

'I figured. That one over there looks just like Shadow...' _And the one next to it_, he notes silently, is Emerl. The one after that is a scribbled, quickly sketched mess, as if somebody drew it in but a few scant seconds based on grainy film footage, but still, he thinks it's supposed to be the monster they encountered on board Space Colony ark. The one that tried to keep them from the Master Emerald.

And the pictures next to that...

Knuckles stares at the images for several long moments, jaw clenching. His eyes narrow instinctively, hands curling into fists inside the shovel claws. For the first time in pretty much the entire time he's known him, Sonic actually looks... nervous. 'Sonic, what exactly have these maniacs _done_?'

* * *

'Okay so I get that we're running a little low on allies, right now, but you were really the omnly option? Really.'

Oh, charming.' Rouge casually takes the (diamond tipped, naturally) tool out of the lock she's trying to pick. The nearby hiss of the electric charges that are circling the walls around them (the most obvious back door trap in the world, did they really think she'd fall for it?) in making her fur crackle and stand on end, and her wings twitch, and Amy is just one more element of annoyance in an already tedious job. 'I _could_ just take you right back into that room, ya know. And don't touch the walls.'

Amy sighs. Then much to Rouge's surprise she mutters 'Sorry, but I think I've got a right to be a little on edge. Where _are_ we anyway?'

'Somewhere towards the abck of the building. We'll come out in the desert, after that it's a straight line back to civilisation and a decent cup of coffee. Relax, sweetheart, I know what I'm doing.'

'Where did Knuckles go?' Chris asks. The kid sounds concerned. 'Is he going to find Sonic?'

'That's the plan. After he dropped _me_ off in that delightful little cell of yours, he went off to keep looking for your blue friend...' Honestly, while she'd never admit it to anybody, she's kind of envious of those shovel claws. The guy cuts through underground dirt and rock like it's water. Her screw kick just can't compete. 'Sonic can take care of himself, though, so I don't know why he bothers.'

'What you're saying we can't?' Amy mutters. 'Rouge you showed up to a rescue mission wearing heels an' a tube top, what credentials are we supposed to take away from this?'

'Wow. Since when did a little girl like you know great big words like credentials? And if you want credentials, you can talk to Topaz. Now do you kids want me to break you out of here or not?'

'Uh, Rouge—'

'Not now, Chris. I'm unpicking a lock.'

'No really, look—!'

She doesn't get to hear the end of his sentence.

* * *

Knuckles brain is kind of hurting at this point. But the pictures on the walls, and the monitors, and all those freaky computers, pretty much confirm Sonic's story. They walk down the corridors of the newly dismantled video room. The buildings walls are all steel plating and shining lights here, a car cry from the exterior walls of the facility, which are old, mouldy, and tinted with rust. This is where the _important _ stuff goes down.

'So let me get this straight, hedgehog: you're telling me they've... Copied your brains and psychological profile thingamajig and now they 're going to use it to create... what? some kind of army? '

'Uh... something like that. That's what the Doc said, anyway. I don't mind tellin' ya he sounded a little on the loopy side.'

'No kidding. I mean, wow... what could possibly go wrong with _that_ strategy? Oh, wait, I know: EVERYTHING. Don't these humans have the technology to create their own damned crazy robots? I've had just about enough of crazy robots!'

'Well... how do a coupl'a dozen of me sound?'

'Like a horrible, horrible nightmare, I can barely cope with the one. You realise how completely and utterly ridiculous this entire thing seems, don't you?'

'...Heh. Yeah, ridiculous. Kinda like my existence altogether, right? I mean... maybe we should've figured all along.'

Knuckles hesitates. 'Sonic I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Neither do I, really... I just know what he said, an' what he said was that pretty much everything you thought about me, it wasn't true. I was born or created or whatever it the human world. Except not. Like I started as... I dunno, a baby or something in our world, and then I wasn't in our world anymore. I was here. I was the thing they used to create the ultimate life form project. They made Shadow based on me.'

'You... actually sound concerned about that,' Knuckles says, and he has to pause at that because Sonic sounding anything other than cocky or nonchalant is a freaking _event_.

'Shouldn't I be? I mean... that freak on the spae staion, and a;l that stuff Shadow did, the stuff I got blamed for, I... maybe I could actually do those thigns. Maybe I'm just as big a freak as that monster on Space Colony Ark.'

'Oh now you're just being ridiculous, you're not _dangerous_.' Knuckles says, although he already knows it's a lie.

'I'm not, huh?.' Sonic sounds serious. Knuckles just can't get used to it. 'They were tryin' to make an army outta me, for cripes sakes, Knuckles. Why would they do _that_ if I wasn't dangerous? You think I don't _know_ what I can do? You think it doesn't freak me out? I've never met anybody who can keep up with me on two legs. I've never seen anybody who can use the chaos emeralds, except for Shadow and— Oh... yeah that kinda makes a lot more sense now, doesn't it? He could use Chaos control because I can... He was based on me.' Sonic laughs, but there's no humour in it. 'Looks... looks like I wasn't the faker after all, huh?'

For a couple of moments, Knuckles doesn't know what to say. The red lights are silent here, and there's nothing to distract him from the awkward silence. He remembers the first time he and Sonic met, and all those fights they had on on Emerald island for... he doesn't know, stupid reasons probably. He remembers Absolute Chaos sinking Station Square and the colony hurtling through space, how Sonic was there, each and every time. Always involved where things were at their most dangerous. Knuckles thinks that he himself has had more reason than any to worry about the things Sonic is capable of, the things his friends just don't seem to understand.

And then Knuckles makes up his mind. 'I don't believe it, Sonic the hedgehog, who fights robots on a daily basis, is actually freaked out by something? I never thought you had it in you to be that sane.'

'Well, yeah, I mean... It's creepy as heck, Knuckles. I'm not just a hedgehog, I'm a prototype.'

'For what?' Knuckles snaps. 'The most stubborn, pig headed creature in all of existence? Because if that's the case then you're a pretty damn good one.'

'Heeey!'

'Sonic. Do you seriously think this matters? We never even knew where you came from in the first place, and we still trusted you so what difference should this make? Even though you never tell us anything about you, where you grew up, who your parents were... you _did_ have them, right? Or at least you had people who gave a damn about you, people who knew you when you were a snivelling little baby hog who hadn't figured out how to run yet.'

'...Nah. I could always run. I don't remember bein' a baby, but I guess nobody does.'

'What about being a kid?'

'...Bits an' pieces. Sixteen years worth of bits and pieces. To be honest, the only real memories I've got are from when I met Tails. S'like he's the first thing that was important enough to keep track of.'

'Huh. You brain always did hop around as fast as your feet. So you've got some mysterious past that places your birth in another universe, Sonic, big _deal_. Frankly, I'd be more surprised if you grew up in some normal, happy little family with a brother and sister and a penchant for playing the guitar or something. Pull yourself together. Like any of your friends give a damn about what you are or where you came from. You're Sonic, that's all that matters. Got it?'

'...Uh...'

'Look, enough of the dramatics. It's making me feel like I've hopped into a parallel universe where everything is backwards. You're Sonic the freakin' hedgehog and Sonic the hedgehog does not, under any circumstances, freak out. And what're you sniggering at?'

'...heh. Nothing. I gotcha.'

'Good. Now can you _please_ quit it with the whole being _thoughtful_ garbage? It's creepy. Next thing I know, Chris will be demonstrating sudden forethought and Amy will stop chasing you around.'

Knuckles isn't sure exactly what he said that worked, but Sonic is grinning again, back to his old self, and then they're running down the corridors into the heart of the facility.

That's where they finally see the Sonic X project for themselves.

They're standing on a metal stairwell, looking down into a quasi dark space the size of a soccer pitch. No people – just machines under flashing red lights. The walls are lines with banks of computers and the floor strewn with wires. The whole place is like a mechanical geniuses paradise. Tails would be right at home here... or at least he would, until he looked down into the middle of the room and saw the...

The whatever they are's.

'Oh-kaaay that's seriously messed up,' Sonic mutters, sounding a lot calmer than he should really, it the wake of Knuckles pep talk. Knuckles can't help but agree.

He and Sonic exchange a look before they leap the railing and land in the dark room.

* * *

'Okay so exactly _where_ are we now? I presumed you had a map or something...' The professor sounds a little peeves. I don't blame him. the alarms have faded, but the red lights are still flashing and it's giving me a headache. The gun is a heavy weight in my hand, and I have no idea what on earth I'd actually do with it, if the opportunity to use it came about.

We've been walking for what feels like forever now, and finding nothing but empty side rooms and more corridors. No people, either. it's like the whole building has been deserted.

'The walls are changing.' I mutter. It's the first time I've noticed. The deeper we go into the facility the less it looks like some abandoned factory out in the middle of nowhere. Were approaching the nerve centre of this whole operation and, hopefully the answers we need.

'Hm. I don't like it,' Topaz mutters. 'There aren't any guards...'

It's true; we've hardly seen another living soul for over half an hour now, after we lost our pursuers in the earlier tunnels. It's almost as if they lost us _on_ purpose. 'You think the building's been evacuated?'

'Probably,' Topaz shrugs. 'Maybe that's what all these sirens were about after all. It wasn't a warning for us being loose in the building, I mean, why would they kick up suck a stink over just a few escaped political prisoners? Even one like Sonic?'

'Then the alarms are a warning to the workers to get out,' the professor says, coldly. 'The question is what for?'

By now the corridors around us are sleek, modern and well lit. Just like you'd imagine a secret government building _should_ look. rather, I think, like I had imagined Space Colony Ark would look in my dreams. The next locked door comes as no surprise, though we check it anyway just to be sure. It's a high security door – two industrial locks on top of what appears to be a retinal scanning system.

Topaz stares at the locks for a moment, before deciding, presumably, that her retinal scan is probably not going to be on these people's records.

'You know,' the professor says thoughtfully. 'If this were a movie, we'd have some guard that we conveniently knocked unconscious a few moments ago, who we could use for that clever scanning thingamabob so we can get through this thing.'

'Yeah, well, sorry I never thought to pack us an unconscious security guard. We were a little busy running for our lives,' Topaz says. Then she steps back and draws her gun. The professor gives her a look, but neither of us have time to react before she blows the locks.

Well, that's one way to get in.

Topaz pulls back, and looks at my expression and shrugs. 'Oh, what exactly are they going to do, Doctor? Set off the alarms? Little late for that, don't you think?'

'...Can't argue with that logic.'

'Hey, I may not have some clever psychology degree, ma'am, but I know my industrial espionage.' Topazsmirks. Then she grabs the door and drags it. It takes all of us tugging at once to force the door open, and reveal the dark, narrow corridor beyond.

That's when I notice the humming. It's a faint sensation, like a dentist's drill at the back of my head. It's probably been there for a while: the hum of technology, of a thousand computers working synchronously. As we step into the corridor beyond, the humming gets even louder. I can feel the blood pounding behind my temples but, strangely, I'm not as afraid as I was a few moments ago.

That's probably some kind of psychological deadening at work in my head. The human brain is very good at deadening itself to trauma, or even just to things it doesn't want to admit are true. There have been a great many studies done into the ways we cope with things our bodies just weren't designed to deal with. However for all our coping strategies, the human brain isn't infallible. When we're unable to express our fears in the usual ways, our bodies find other methods. In mild cases, we develop habits: biting our nails, tapping our feet, staring into our Newton's cradles for a few minutes a day, that sort of thing. But in worse case scenarios, we develop more serious problems. Things like, for example, post traumatic stress disorder. PTSD. One of the worst conditions to befall people who have already had to fight for their lives, and frankly don't deserve to have to take that pain home with them.

...I wonder just how much Malcolm Torn must have been going through when he got involved with this facility. IT's almost enough to make me feel sorry for him.

Any sympathy I've gained, however, is about to go well and truly out of the metaphorical window. We leave the tunnel and enter a large room. The drilling sensation at the back of my head reaches its peak, and all I can really do is stare.

'Oh good lord,' the professor mutters, at about the same time as Topic mutters a 'holy crap!' that I honestly think is rather fitting given the circumstances.

It looks kind of like I always imagined one of Doctor Eggman's labs would. The Robots are lined up back to back, at least fifty of them, with room for many more in the chamber around us. They're small, is the first thing I notice. Not much bigger than the actual Sonic, more streamlines and sharp edged, too. Their eyes are as black as the dark corners of the room, their bodies thin and compact, like... well, like living weapons might look, I suppose. The professor gets close enough to one of them to see its hands – no oversized white gloves here, just tapering fingers tipped with sharp blades. There's actually relatively little about them that resembles Sonic. They're shining grey rather than bright blue, cold an sharp where the real Sonic isn't. It's just the face where you can really see it. The face, and the computers, code and information relaying down the screens, one by one.

This whole room, every creature in this place, was created based on the patterns in Sonics head. On the studies I carried out.

A whole room filled of Metal Sonic's.

And standing at the other end of the room, staring at the assembly between us, is the real deal.


End file.
